


A Case of Witness Protection

by FluffySherlollyFan119



Series: Sherlolly on Brompton Lane [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Kidnapping, Parent!lock, Sherlolly Big Bang Challenge, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/pseuds/FluffySherlollyFan119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the accountant of an American Mob goes to the FBI with evidence he demands to be given protection and is sent to London. However the FBI still think he's up to no good and they ask Mycroft to keep an eye on him. Mycroft obviously puts his best man, his little brother on the case. </p><p>But Sherlock is going to need help and he asks Molly to go undercover with him.</p><p>Mischief ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts), [GothicGorilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicGorilla/gifts), [PoisonIvy89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonIvy89/gifts), [InMollysWildestDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMollysWildestDreams/gifts).



> I could not have pulled this off without the help that my beta GothicGorilla and my cheerleader InMollysWildestDreams gave me throughout all of this. 
> 
> I need to thank my good friend PoisonIvy89 as well for helping me with a couple of scenes that I had trouble with. 
> 
> Also, the truly AMAZING artwork that Amalia Kensington made for this fic is at the beginning of this series, seriously go check it out if you want to know what Amanda looks like.

Leo Klein could have been sweating blood with the fear that coursed through his body. He was currently driving along 2 nd Street NE, Washington D.C. He glanced out the driver’s side window on his left and saw the U.S. Capitol. On any other day he would’ve stopped to admire its architecture for the hundredth time in his life, always finding something new he hadn’t known before, but today, when he was pretty sure he was being followed, he had to make sure to get to his destination alive. 

 

As he turned a corner he went over the telephone conversation he’d had with the FBI agent just the day before and rehearsed how he planned to start the conversation today. 

 

_ “Hello, FBI Agent Longdale. How can I help?” _

 

_ “Hello… I have some information regarding Derek Von Stratten, the crime lord.” _

 

_ Longdale rolled his eyes. Not another nutter who thought his neighbour was the elusive crime lord they had been trying to catch for the last 15 years. “What sort of information, sir?” He had to cut this short, his work pile was growing by the second and he had to get as much of it done before the holiday, that way he could at least enjoy his burgers and beer a little more. _

 

_ “His address, list of aliases and employees, and a bunch of other evidence that can link him to every major crime he’s committed or orchestrated in the last 20 years.”  _

 

_ Agent Longdale sat up straight in his chair and reached for his casebook and pen. He motioned for Agent Masterson to go into the phone log and bring up the information related to his call. “Can you elaborate on that?”  _

 

_ “Records. Mostly financial but also phone records and recordings of calls he kept because he was too paranoid that someone was going to blackmail him or something. He always has me keeping them safe because he trusts me, but now I want out and I want you to help me.” _

 

_ “What do you want?”  _

 

_ “Protection”  _

 

_ “Who are you?” The agent asked as the call information came up on his computer. He knew he wasn’t going to get an answer straight out, at least not if the caller was smart.  _

 

_ “Someone who works with Von Stratten.” The agent wasn’t sure but he could almost hear the distinct sound of a voice manipulator. They were very hard to catch and it became harder the more common they became, but to a highly trained ear it was very easy indeed. The voice on the other end was steely, almost threatening but now it changed to a pleading one. “Please. I can’t keep doing this for him. I need your help otherwise he’s going to kill me.” _

 

_ “We can’t help you unless you come in and identify yourself. It’ll be perfectly safe. We know where you are and we can come pick you up.”  _

 

_ “Yes, I’ll come in but don’t pick me up. I’m pretty sure I’m being followed and if I am then it’ll be less suspicious if I get into my own car and drive off then if someone were to pick me up. When can I come?”  _

 

_ “Anytime you want. The sooner, the better.”  _

 

_ “Good. I’ll see you soon then. Hopefully.” And with that the phone call ended.  _

 

As Leo parked his car he took a good long look around the immediate area. The blue sedan that had been on his tail for a good 15 minutes was turning the corner now. He waited before he turned his car off and stuck his mobile to his ear, gesturing as if he were talking to someone on the phone. If Derek had sent someone to follow him it would’ve been one of the regulars, one of the men he knew and they would know that he always stopped his car to answer his phone. The car passed him by without a glance from its driver and Leo took the opportunity to breathe again. He picked up his files and made his way to the entrance asking for Agent Longdale’s office at the first desk he met with. A young blonde directed him and offered him coffee, which he accepted since she hadn’t offered anything stronger. 

 

Longdale must have been buzzed and told he was here to see him because he was waiting for Leo at the top of the stairs.

 

“Agent Longdale?” He asked the man with short black hair standing in a charcoal gray suit with a red tie. 

 

“Yes. Did we speak on the phone?” Longdale nodded as he raised his right arm straight out in front of him. At 5ft10 the stranger was only 3 inches taller than him. 

 

“We did. As promised I have the evidence you need. Do you have what you promised?” He questioned as he took the raised hand in his own right one and gave a firm handshake. 

 

“Everything is set up and ready to go at a moment’s notice if you fill all the requirements. Let’s go to my office and see what you have for us.” The agent motioned for the brunette to follow. 

 

“You might want to order lunch, it’ll take us a while to go through all this stuff.”

 

They entered what looked like a small rectangular conference room surrounded by glass walls on three sides and a plain gray concrete fourth wall with a large mirror that was obviously a one way window. The only things in the room were six black office chairs which surrounded a gray top table. On top was a number of case files, which Leo supposed were all linked to Derek Von Stratten, a tray holding a jug of cold water and three glasses, a black digital recorder with a wire leading to the concrete wall, and an intercom. The walls were completely bare except for a double switch which clearly led to the overhead lighting fixture which held a single bulb. 

 

“Please take a seat.” The agent gestured to the room. “Usually, people who come to us with evidence come with a lawyer, I’m surprised you didn’t considering your demand.”

 

Leo nodded and walked forward, sitting in the chair closest to him. The blonde from the front desk showed up with his coffee now. Leo nodded his thanks and she left without a word, nearly bumping into the short figure that was making his way through the door. 

 

“Well, to tell you the truth I did consider it, but Derek’s got half of Nevada bought and paid for so I didn’t risk it. If I’d taken the chance and ended up speaking to the wrong person I’d’ve been dead before I got to the sidewalk.”

 

“I figured.” Longdale smiled. “Which is why we’re supplying you with one ourselves. This is Mr. Williams he’ll be joining us while you’re giving evidence and he’ll be able to advise you on anything you need. I’ve already taken the liberty of relaying to him what you told me on the phone.” Both men stepped inside and the agent stepped to the wall and clicked both switches on. Instantly, the room grew brighter and the glass walls which allowed anyone to look in or out turned almost completely opaque. “I can give you some time alone if you’d like to show him the evidence before you present it to us officially.” He offered. 

 

“No thanks, I know what’s in here isn’t incriminating to me in any way, except for the fact that I had knowledge of the crimes and didn’t come forward before now, but I’m hoping a smart man like you is able to look over that little fact in return for the evidence I’ll be giving you.” 

 

“That depends if what you have is any good.” 

 

“Oh, it’s good alright.”

 

“Well then, shall we begin?”

 

The agent sat across from the accountant and the lawyer and switched the recording device on. 

 

As it turned out, Leo’s evidence was more than enough to ensure he served no time in prison and his desired protection. It took a week for him and Agent Longdale to go through it together. Security measures were put up to make sure that Leo got to his hotel safely every night, without being seen or heard. Two field agents would always check his room before he went in and a car would always stand guard outside the hotel to spot any undesirables approaching. It was halfway through the final day that Agent Longdale asked to be excused after he had lost his way along one of Leo’s complicated explanations. 

 

Agent Longdale was walking down the office corridor with one of the evidence files tucked away under his arm, answering alternate irate texts from his wife and son, both pleading their case why his son should or shouldn’t bring his delinquent of a friend along on their road trip. He was about to text out that he was not in a position to be playing moderator at the current moment when he spotted Mycroft Holmes walking in the opposite direction of him. 

 

“Mycroft Holmes! Just the man I need to see.”

 

“Hello, Agent Longdale, what is it that you require?” The older man stopped with a rather forced smile on his lips. 

 

“I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to look at it yet, but I’ve just sent a request form to your office asking you to take on a witness for protection. Says he wants to be placed in London and given the evidence he’s providing… well let’s just say I’d give him the damn crown jewels if he asked for them.”

 

“It would be wonderfully ambitious for you to try, as it were I’m not the one to usually handle such menial tasks.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mycroft and I’m not asking you to merely accept the request form.” The agent took a quick look around him to make sure that no one else was listening in to the conversation. Having seen the gesture Mycroft leaned in closer to the shorter man to be able to hear whatever he said in a hushed voice next. “You see, this guy… he’s an accountant or something for a huge crime boss we’ve been trying to nail for the last twenty years, and he’s giving us everything even as we speak. Every last cent Derek Von Stratten has had to his name in the last two decades is in this file or another one like it.” The agent whispered taking the file and handing it to Mycroft who promptly accepted it and proceeded to read it. 

 

“It seems, agent that your accountant has a discrepancy here.” Mycroft said before the agent could continue. 

 

“Damn, I heard you were good.” The agent looked around nervously again. “That’s right, the records he’s given us don’t match up by about half a billion dollars, it’s taken three of my men four days to track that money back to a Swiss bank account in the name of Michael Ortenstein von Meer. Now it could be that that’s just another one of von Stratten’s aliases but then why would Klein not know about it and why wouldn’t he tell us.”

 

“Clearly, Klein was the one who moved the money.” Mycroft deduced

 

“Obviously, but we have no proof and it’s my gut feeling that he’s not just saving up for his retirement to a London suburb.”

 

“Do get on with it, agent. I don’t have all day.” Mycroft said, getting bored with the way this conversation was developing. 

 

“Right, well. I hate to say it, but you and your agents are a lot faster than us. I don’t know how you get the results that you do and how you do it so quickly but the fact is that you do and it would be a lot riskier and more expensive to send two of my agents undercover to keep an eye on him. So I’m suggesting that you have one or two of your agents keep a close watch on him and see if he gets up to any mischief. If it’s nothing then a couple of agents will have gotten some time off but if my suspicions are correct we could stop a potentially dangerous man from starting up an even more potentially dangerous crime ring.”

 

“Quite right.” Mycroft admitted. “Rest assured, I shall put my best man on the case.” He promised handing back the file. 

 

“Thanks, I’ll be in touch with more information as soon as I have it. I’ll leave you to what you were up to now.” The agent nodded. Getting Derek Von Stratten was going to be the highlight of his career and if he was lucky, he’d get the accountant too.


	2. A Visit to Baker Street

“Daddy!” 6-year-old Amanda Holmes called as she climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street before allowing Mrs. Hudson to take her coat. “Daddy!” She yelled again, knowing that he might be in his mind palace or doing an experiment. She could hear voices in the other room and opened the door excitedly.

 

“Uncle Mikey!” She shouted as she lunged to hug the older man’s legs. 

 

“Yes, hello Amanda darling, how was your day?” Mycroft smiled warmly at the little girl as he crouched down and stroked her raven curls. Her blue eyes twinkled with excitement and joy. 

 

“School was boring.” She said rolling her eyes in the same way her father currently was at how easy it was to distract his brother. “Do you have a new case for daddy? Can I help this time?” She said turning towards the younger Holmes who was sitting in his favourite armchair. He motioned for his daughter to come sit on his lap and she obeyed. 

 

“You forgot to pick me up at school again. Mrs. Hudson did and we had to take the tube.” She wrinkled her nose as she climbed into his lap. 

 

“I didn’t forget, I was busy, that’s why I sent Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock dismissed. 

 

“Fibbing. Whenever you’re busy Aunt Mary or Molly pick me up and I stay with them until you collect me. Mrs. Hudson only comes when the principal calls you and you don’t pick up.” Amanda poked his nose. 

 

“I see she’s inheriting some of our family’s traits of observation.” Mycroft piped up from the armchair across from his brother’s 

 

“Good, that means I can help with the case you’re giving daddy.” She answered innocently, turning around to look at him. 

 

“No need to kiss up to Uncle Mycroft, dear. I’ve already decided you’re coming with me on this one.”

 

“What?” Mycroft asked shocked. His brother had a habit of coming up with illogical ideas but this one was absolutely stupid. His niece was a genuine genius compared to her classmates, but he doubted whether she would actually be of any help on such a case, and could even be in danger. 

 

“Oh, relax Mycroft. It’s the perfect cover for me and she won’t be in any danger. Besides, it’ll be after the end of the school year and neither one of us has any desire for her to go to  _ summer school _ .” He added with a disgusted face. 

 

“Yucky.” Amanda concurred. 

 

“Your cover?” Mycroft prodded. 

 

“Yes, my cover. You said this accountant was going to be relocated to a London suburb which are typically attractive to families, especially those with young children, ergo his new neighbours shall be a single father and his young daughter. We’ll change our names of course to avoid any future mishaps but other than that I don’t see a problem with it.” Sherlock shrugged. 

 

Mycroft considered for a moment before he said “I had no intention of sending you alone, however I was hoping you would choose someone with a little more experience in crime solving than your six year old daughter.” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mycroft.” He spat. “Amanda is capable of more observation than half of your staff and at least I can stand to share my living quarters with her.”

 

“I wasn’t considering any member of my staff.” Mycroft sneered. 

 

“Then who did you have in mind, brother?” 

 

“It would be someone of your choosing, naturally, although we would have to get them cleared beforehand and made sure they were capable of the task. It would put everyone’s mind at ease to know you have backup. After all, Amanda may be smart but she doesn’t know how to handle a gun if need be.” 

 

“Daddy can teach me.” Amanda offered.

 

“No!” Both brothers said at once.

 

“You know how to cause enough damage without being allowed to run rampant with a gun.” Sherlock said patting her head and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Go change out of that uniform, we’re going to visit Molly at the lab.”

 

Amanda hopped off and crossed the space between the two armchairs. She hugged her uncle tightly. “This is the third time you haven’t brought chocolate or sweets with you, don’t think I’m not counting.” She said and skipped out of the room and up to the third floor bedroom. 

 

“That’s another family trait she seems to be developing… your sweet tooth.” Sherlock mocked as he grabbed the violin and started stroking a sweet melody out of it. 

 

“Sherlock.” Mycroft warned, looking very cross suddenly. He hated when his brother changed the subject without warning. He hated it even more when he changed the subject to include him and treats. 

 

“I’ll take the case Mycroft. Anything to fight off this boredom. I’ll need you to make the appropriate preparations of course. I could do them but it would take me longer to dodge your little security measures and you’d find out eventually so best do them yourself.”

 

“I’ll see to it that everything you need is prepared once you give me the name of who’ll be assisting you and your cover. Although, Sherlock, I would ask you to reconsider taking Amanda with you. We don’t know if there is any danger in this situation and while you are her only parent I would remind you that you are not the only one who cares about her.”

 

“I assure you Mycroft that my daughter’s best interests are always my best interests. Should she need to go away for the length of the case I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to house her while I’m away, but I do not, as of yet, see any reason why she can’t accompany me. Goodbye, Mycroft. I’ll be in touch.”

 

Mycroft left without another word as Sherlock kept playing. After a few minutes Amanda came down wearing jeans and a pink top. Only she was wearing the shirt back to front and Sherlock had to try and convince her that it would look better the other way round with the purple butterfly and yellow flower on the front rather than the back. When he eventually did and helped her take it off and put it on again, they left, both sporting their own versions of Belstaff coat, scarf and gloves, Sherlock with his regular blue knitted scarf and black leather gloves and Amanda with her matching pink and purple knits that Molly had given her. Sherlock hailed a cab as his daughter fidgeted with her little purse. 

 

They got into the cab and Sherlock directed the driver to St. Bart’s hospital where he knew Molly would be waiting to take her favourite adopted daughter to the park like she did every Wednesday. When Sherlock had first learnt of Amanda’s existence he was more than ready to take on the role of single father, however it wasn’t soon after that that he realised his own mortality and while John and Mary were chosen to be her godparents from the off-set (and wonderful godparents they were.) He had realised that if anything happened to him he would want someone slightly different to be her guardian. He also realised that being a girl, there would come a time when Amanda needed a mother more often than she needed a father and Molly Hooper fit the bill just perfectly. He had presented a proposal of sorts to Molly and she had accepted. Legally adopting Amanda was not technically part of the deal but when he did eventually land himself in hospital and there was some hesitation on social services side to let him raise Amanda, they had made it all legal, with Mycroft’s help of course. 

 

They had been sharing custody of Amanda ever since she was two and because they were firm friends who knew each other’s best and worst qualities there was never any of the usual disputes between them that were generally shared between other co-parents who’d been in a previous relationship together. To Sherlock, Molly seemed to be just the right kind of normal and together they would help Amanda to grow up and be what they both wanted her to be. Smart and non-conforming to the society that was around her like her father, yet nice and strong like her… well, mother. There was also no confusion for Amanda. 

 

A year before she had enquired as to the difference between her family and that of most other girls and boys in her class. It was during one of their regular visits to the lab and both Molly and Sherlock were present. Sherlock had just blinked at his daughter struggling to understand the real meaning behind her question but Molly had answered immediately. 

 

“There’s all sorts of families out there. Some with a mum and a dad, others with two mums or two dads. Some children live with just their mum or their dad others with their grandparents…” She had trailed off possibly hoping to distract her. 

 

“Yes but all the mummies and daddies that are together love each other and all those that aren’t did before. What about you?”

 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I’ve told you about your mother before. She loved you but couldn’t take care of you so she sent you to me and now I take care of you.” He answered dismissively never taking his eyes off the eyepiece on his microscope. 

 

“Yes, but Molly is my mummy now and you two don’t act like other mummies and daddies together.”

 

“That’s because we’re not.” Molly answered quickly. “We’re friends, your daddy and I and although that means we don’t love each other in the same way that other parents do, it also means that we can’t break up and start fighting over who gets to spend more time with you.” She ended her explanation by tickling the girl’s abdomen which made her explode into a peal of laughs.

 

Amanda had never asked another similar question from that day forward so it seemed to Sherlock that she understood. That didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally catch her daydreaming about what it would be like if the two of them were together. Sometimes it would pop up in one or two of her drawings (the teachers certainly preferred her ‘unhealthy’ relationship with Molly over her rather detailed drawings of crime scenes.) and just as rarely, Sherlock would catch himself thinking ‘what if’ he and Molly truly were together. 

 

Of course he always deleted the idea before it could settle amongst the dust in his mind palace. If he didn’t he’d never be able to get it out.

 

They pulled up at St. Bart’s and Sherlock took the ever-familiar route to the morgue, Amanda trotting behind him to keep up with his long strides. They burst into the lab as Molly was taking off her lab-coat and placing it in the laundry bin. She turned and saw the detective and girl walking in. 

 

“Oh no, no, no, no, NO!” Molly said shaking her head and holding up her pointer finger at Sherlock. “You do not get to come in here and check on your experiments or dump Amanda on me literally at the last minute of my shift. No. I told you I have plans and it’s too late to cancel now.” Molly blurted out before he could get a word in. 

 

“But it’s Wednesday.” He said confused. 

 

“Yes and I told you two weeks ago that I had plans, I sent you a text a few days later, I told you again last week and I told you again yesterday. I also reminded Amanda and Mrs Hudson.” 

 

Sherlock looked down at his daughter questioning the statement and when she nodded she cut off any other questions by hugging Molly’s legs. 

 

“Hello, Molly.” She said affectionately. 

 

“Hello, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t take you to the park today, but I promise daddy can bring you by my flat tomorrow and we’ll make a whole day of it.” 

 

“Okay, Molly.” She said. 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Amanda?” 

 

“Ice cream.” She and Molly said at the same time. 

 

“I always get her some.” Molly continued, standing up. She handed him a few pound notes. “She likes the one on Oxford Street near the Marble Arch, but not  _ Scooperoo _ , his strawberry tastes like that awful medicine you gave her once and his pistachio tastes like bubblegum, and not in a good way.” 

 

Molly left the morgue without another word leaving Amanda to pull her dad out of his thoughts. “Come on Da-ad.” She whined pulling on his coat.


	3. Wednesday Night Fever

Sherlock’s cab pulled up to the address he’d given the driver. He could hear the music’s bass spilling faintly out onto the street despite the black and heavy looking closed doors which were currently being guarded by a man who was easily 6ft3 and looked like he could lift a loaded lorry with three fingers very easily. There was a line of bored looking men and women waiting to get into the club. 

 

Another, large man stood on the other side of the door, except he didn’t look anything like the other. Sherlock read him as he handed the driver his money. Both men were dressed similarly in black however the one on the right, who was trying to keep the line in order, was wearing a cheaper version that was obviously store bought and given other indicating factors Sherlock deduce that the man had at least two more sets of the same clothes at home. The other man however was wearing a much more expensive and exclusive version of the other’s uniform and it had been clearly adjusted to his shape if not made specifically for him. It was also not worn as much as the club bouncer’s and that meant that he didn’t wear it to work, or if he did his work didn’t hold him to any particular dress code. 

 

Both men had ear-pieces but the one on the left had a tattoo just under the collar of his shirt which told Sherlock that he was exactly where he needed to be. The man on the left was clearly a gang-member and was here tonight as protection for his employer. Sherlock slipped his wallet back into his jeans and got out of the cab. Walking deliberately towards the bouncer who nodded to him and pushed open one half of the door, to much protestation from the waiting queue. 

 

Sherlock groaned when the stuffy air and loud music hit him. He really did hate clubs but occasionally he had to frequent them due to cases, especially this particular one. A particularly tricky drug trafficker had been eluding him and the police for quite some time. Thanks to the Homeless Network he had worked out a number of high end clubs that the criminal frequented and also that he was always in a much more vulnerable state when going to said clubs, which made it easier to just pick him up there and drop him off at Lestrade’s office on his way home. 

 

The smell of sweat, alcohol, perfume and other bodily fluids mingled in the air. Another reason why he didn’t like clubs was because they always reminded him of his own drug use in the past and how easy it actually was to fall back into it. 

 

Sherlock thought he might as well try to fit in while he scoured the crowd for his target. He went to the bar and ordered a beer. He sipped at it thoughtfully as he watched the crowd dancing to the electronic music. He had downed half of his pint when two girls practically crashed into the free part of the bar next to him, exhausted from their dancing. He watched the woman closest to him order drinks for her and two friends she handed one to the other girl who was there with her and turned around looking for her second companion. She seemed to spot her and waved to her to get her attention, which she did. Sherlock was about to turn his attention back to finding his drug dealer when he saw the third girl walking up to her friends. 

 

“Molly?” He asked surprised, positively shouting over the thundering trumpets which made part of the current song. 

 

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?” She asked when she spotted him. “Oh god. Amanda’s not here with you, is she?” 

 

“No, Molly I’m on a case. She’s sleeping over at John’s.” 

 

“Molly, do you know him?” Her friend asked. Molly quickly introduced her friends to Sherlock out of politeness who simply nodded back before the two girls went squealing back onto the dance floor leaving Molly alone with him. 

 

“Can I help?” Molly questioned directly. 

 

“Not r…” Sherlock trailed off as he spotted a face he knew. It wasn’t the man he was here for tonight though. No it was a face that was tucked away in his mind palace for a future case. It was Mycroft’s American witness. If he saw him here and, more importantly, if he saw him arresting that drug dealer, his entire cover would be blown before it even started. “Molly, come here.” He ordered, pulling her closer to him as he noticed the other man turning to face him. He pressed them together, her head making a soft thud against his chest as she nearly lost her balance. Sherlock placed his right hand at the small of Molly’s back, keeping her close and lifted her chin with his left as his lips met hers. 

 

Molly felt her knees going weak and adjusted her footing, relaxing into the kiss, as she slid her arms up his chest and round his neck, locking them in place. His tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip begging entrance. She obliged. Their tongues and breaths mingled together, both growing intensely warmer in the close crowd. Maybe it wasn’t the closeness of the crowd, Molly wondered. Maybe it had everything to do with the fact that the man she had been crushing on for the last twelve years, the same man she legally shared a daughter with was snogging the life out of her in a dance club. 

 

His mouth tasted bitterly and sweetly of beer, freshly of mint and had hints of the curry he had for dinner earlier. Her mouth tasted of the sugary and acidic drinks she’d been drinking, with hints of fruits… Mmm, lemon and lime, Sherlock observed, interesting. He could smell her luscious and expensive perfume mixing in with his musky cologne. All either of them could hear was the sound of their own heartbeats in their ears, impossibly drowning out the music that had seemed so loud before. Sherlock’s fingers twitched at the fabric underneath, feeling the softness of the dress’ material and wondering if her skin was just as soft or more underneath. He could feel the front of his trousers tightening slightly at the thought of seeing Molly naked. Molly twirled her fingers around the errant curls at the back of his neck, tugging slightly and eliciting a short moan from the detective into her mouth which vibrated off her tongue and made her shiver, the sensation registering in her brain and then trailing down the entirety of her spine only to pool at the bottom of her stomach and down to her nether regions. All they could see was the soft glow of the lights behind their eyelids as the different coloured lights streaked across their faces with the now drowned out beat. Sherlock let go of her chin and placed his hand with the other pulling her closer again. 

 

They eventually pulled back from each other, though neither one of them wanted too, and just looked into one another’s eyes. Sherlock glanced up at the crowd again, concerned. The witness was gone and it didn’t seem like now was a good time to stay for his intended course of action. He grabbed Molly’s hand firmly in his and started pushing past the people, pulling Molly behind him towards the front door. 

 

As they exited both breathed in a lungful of fresh air. It wasn’t cold enough to warrant coats and jackets but they had been so close and crowded a moment ago it sent a shiver down Molly’s spine. The sudden burst of coolness resulting in a layer of sweat over both their bodies. Sherlock hailed a cab, keeping an observant eye on the people who could see them. It could very well be that his witness was still watching them without his knowledge. Molly would have to spend the night at Baker Street, there was no way around it. He took out his phone and shot off a text to Anthea. He knew she would eventually tell his brother but he neither wanted him in Molly’s things or being admonished by him for ruining his cover before the case actually started. If Sherlock was right, as he usually was, their witness hadn’t even officially arrived yet. Anthea’s answering text came back just before a cab pulled to the curb and he and Molly both jumped in. 

 

“What was that?” Molly finally found the courage to say. 

 

“Not now.” Sherlock glanced at the driver and out the rear windscreen. “You’ll need to spend the night at Baker Street, Amanda’s sleeping over at John’s and there’s a full size single bed in her room if you prefer that over mine.” He assured. 

 

“I… what?” Molly asked confused, the high level of alcohol in her system doing nothing to help her thinking process. 

 

“Later, Molly. I’ll explain everything later.” He breathed as he squeezed her hand. Molly didn’t answer and was practically nodding off when they got to his flat 10 minutes later. 

 

Sherlock took the stairs two at a time while he left Molly climbing them in a sort of daze. She still couldn’t comprehend much of what had happened in the last half-hour. When she got to the flat she heard hushed, hurried voices, Sherlock’s and a female’s. 

 

“I can’t explain now.” He said. “Do you have what I asked for?” 

 

Molly walked in then and saw Anthea, Mycroft’s secretary, handing Sherlock a black duffle bag that looked eerily familiar. The red-head threw the brunette a quick look of sympathy before saying “Sherlock said you’d be spending the night.” Turning to hand the bag over to her instead. “You have two changes of underwear, toiletries and book, a pair of jeans, shirt, pyjamas, slippers and socks, tooth and hair brushes. You’ve already got a day off tomorrow but if you need more we can extend your leave without any problems and I’ll drop by tomorrow to feed your cat.” She explained. Molly took the bag silently and nodded at the woman. Anthea turned back to Sherlock. “He won’t be happy and we’ll want to know everything tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.” She indicated her phone and then left the two alone together. 

 

“I’m sorry for that Molly. I was on a case and I saw someone who can’t know that I’m a detective, I had to think fast and it seemed the only logical solution.” Molly breathed out, relieved. Was she? Was it relief she was feeling that this man found her as unattractive as he did before? Could he really be after kissing her so brilliantly? 

 

“Right.” Was all she could get out. “Um, can we please talk about it tomorrow? I’m suddenly feeling like I might vomit and I just want to go to bed.” 

 

Sherlock agreed. “Take my bed.” He offered. “Closer to the bathroom if you need to… you know.” 

 

Molly took her things to the bathroom and got ready for bed rather methodically. She was working on auto-pilot and had absolutely no idea of what she was actually doing. She found herself sitting on the toilet and staring at the wall at one point without one single thought in her mind. Eventually she finished and made her way into Sherlock’s bed, actually crawling. It didn’t take long after her head hit the pillows for her to fall asleep.


	4. Sherlock Day Care

When Molly awoke the next morning she heard soft violin music playing in the other room. She stretched her body from the foetal position she had curled into during the night. Molly sat up but felt the room spinning and spit gathering at the sides of her mouth. She flopped back down on the bed and turned on her side, vomiting over the side of the bed. She’d closed her eyes as she regurgitated her stomach contents and as she opened them saw that a bucket had been perfectly placed at the side of her bed.

 

She laid her head back down on the pillows that smelled of Sherlock and snuggled further below the covers. She noticed that they felt heavier than they had the previous night and looked up to see a brown and white checkered fleece blanket that she was sure hadn’t been there before she fell asleep. Feeling the dizziness approaching again she settled her head down slowly again and took deep breaths through her nose to try and clear her mind, which felt like it had been filled with cement sometime during the night.

 

The violin music in the next room stopped suddenly and she could hear shuffling on the floor boards. She ignored it and instead tried repeating the last four notes she remembered on in her head as a way to concentrate on something other than the pain and nausea. Molly was starting to drift back to sleep when she heard a knock at the door. She briefly wondered who it could be and then she remembered that she was actually in Sherlock’s bed and he had been the one who was playing the music. 

 

“Come in.” She said hoarsely, sitting up slowly and holding her head in her hands because it just felt so heavy. 

 

The door opened to reveal Sherlock Holmes in his blue silk dressing gown, with a grey t-shirt, and blue pinstriped pyjama pants holding a tray in his hand. 

 

“Are you fully awake or shall I come back later?” He said with a half smile. 

 

“I’m up.” She insisted. Molly was slightly worried that the tray might contain one of Sherlock’s disgusting experiments that might make her throw up again, though she wasn’t completely averse to that idea currently. He came round and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray’s legs carefully on either side of her own. 

 

On the tray was an assortment of items including a white ceramic teacup and saucer with some sort of pink flower on it (Probably belongs to Mrs Hudson, Molly thought briefly.) filled with plain tea and a matching sugar bowl and milk jug. There was a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and a blob of butter, large enough to smear both slices sufficiently, piled up on the edge of the plate with a knife sitting next to it, accompanied by a tall, clear glass of water, which Molly could tell was cold because of the condensation gathering around the outside. A pack of Pepto-Bismol sat at the very edge of the tray accompanied by another pack of Panadol. 

 

Molly squinted at the array of items on the tray. “Sherlock, what is all this?” she asked. 

 

“Tea, I know you take it with milk and sugar but I wasn’t so sure how upset your stomach was, so you can add as much as you want. Toast, the same with the butter, and in case you’re still feeling rather horrible after that, the tablets should help with any nausea or headaches. Most of the alcohol should be out of your system by now so you should be okay taking the paracetamol. Take them first with the water.” He explained with a clipped tone. 

 

“How…?” She was beginning to ask  _ How do you know how to take care of a hangover?  _ Before he anticipated her. 

 

“I’ve had plenty of hangovers in the past, but mostly because Amanda contracts at least one stomach flu a year, she’s had three this past scholastic one alone.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. He saw Molly’s fingers twirling around the edge of the fleece blanket, her mind working on another question. “You woke up vomiting three times before this. The first time you threw up all over the floor and I had to clean it up, so I thought the bucket might come in handy next time, which it did.” He continued, almost pleased with himself. 

 

“Sorry.” Molly whispered. 

 

“Don’t be.” Sherlock shook his head in an understanding way. “But you did start shivering after you fell asleep again so I gave you the extra blanket. Eat.” He insisted as he got up and took the bucket to the bathroom. After drinking the water and downing a tablet of each, Molly mixed the sugar and milk into her tea because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it other wise, but she didn’t want to tempt fate so took the toast without butter. 

 

When Sherlock had finished in the bathroom he sat at the edge of the bed again, waiting for the appropriate moment to continue their conversation. At one point Molly asked if she could have some more water and Sherlock obliged, returning to his position once she had the drink in hand. When Molly was finished, he scooted closer to her and felt her forehead. She looked up at him questioningly. 

 

“I’m not certain that all you have is a hangover.” He explained. “John will be dropping Amanda off in a few hours, I’ll ask him to take a look at you just to be sure.” Molly nodded, feeling the paracetamol tablets taking effect now. 

 

“Um, Sherlock?” She broached the subject carefully.

 

“Mm.” He hummed sensing her hesitation. 

 

“Last night.” She started, twirling her fingers in her hand. “What was all that about?” She finally asked without meeting his gaze. 

 

“Undercover.” He blurted out suddenly. Noticing her growing confusion, he cleared his throat and started again. “I was supposed to be on a case but I noticed someone connected to another case at the club and I am supposed to be undercover so I didn’t want him to see me. I’m sorry I kissed you like that. It was a spontaneous solution.”

 

“No. If it was for a case it’s okay but I don’t think I understand.” Molly said slowly, her brain becoming more dulled with the drugs now. 

 

Sherlock sighed but explained further because he knew he was going to need her help. “The FBI relocated one of their witnesses to London under their witness protection program. However they're suspicious of some of his actions and don’t want him knowing that they’re keeping track of him, so they went to Mycroft for help, who came to me. Now, Amanda and I are going to have to go undercover as his neighbours in order to get the evidence they need or clear his name. I didn’t want him getting a good look at me last night so I…” he waved his hand out in front of him gesturing towards her.

 

“Oh.” She said. 

 

“It’s still early, go back to sleep and we can talk more later.” Sherlock prodded gently. Molly nodded, droopy eyed, and settled back down in her foetal position. Sherlock made sure she was covered properly, even tucking the sheets in a little, discreetly, at her knees. After he had gotten her her third glass of water and set it on the bedside table he whispered “Goodnight, Molly Hooper.”

 

******

 

Molly woke up a few hours later to the sound of voices in the next room. She could recognise Sherlock’s voice but wasn’t too sure of the second and third voices until she heard what they were saying. 

 

“That’s besides the point now. Will you take a look at her or not?”

 

“Fine, I will. But for her sake alone and so help me Sherlock, if you’ve hurt her…” John threatened. 

 

“I would do no such thing to Molly. John, really why are you being so overprotective? She is a grown woman after all.”

 

“Yes, she is, but you’re an absolute prick who has no idea what boundaries are!” 

 

“John, I think we should wait and hear both sides of the story before you punch him.” Mary said from somewhere farther away. 

 

“Yeah. Hand me my bag and make some tea will you Mary?” He asked the nurse patiently. Molly could hear footsteps and shuffling after that and then cluttering about in the kitchen as more footsteps approached the bedroom. A soft knocking on the door pulled her from her dreamlike state. John didn’t wait for an answer thinking her still asleep. He peeked into the dark bedroom and saw her sitting up. 

 

“Hey, Molls. Sherlock said you’re feeling a bit off.” 

 

“Yeah, he says I threw up four times, though I honestly can’t remember the first three, I must’ve been out of it.” Molly explained as she scratched the back of her head and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She could feel her hair knotting about in places and briefly wondered if she’d gotten it dirty during the night. 

 

“Well we know he doesn’t exaggerate, so let’s see what’s going on? Can you remember what you had to drink and how often this has happened before?”

 

“Umm. Not exactly.” She answered honestly like a chided schoolgirl. “I had about as much as I usually have but my friends were buying every second and third round and there were a couple of cocktails I’d never heard of before. I have had horrible hangovers in the past, maybe two or three a year at most, but I’ve never blacked out and I’ve certainly never felt this bad after taking the Pepto.” She explained. 

 

The examination went on for a few more minutes before Molly had to excuse herself to use the bathroom again. Mary had come in and soothed the pathologist, helping her back to the bedroom when she nearly walked straight into the wall. 

 

“Right. I’m guessing we’re adding vertigo to the list of symptoms?” John asked as his wife helped tuck Molly back into her nest of sheets. Molly nodded, regretting the decision immediately. 

 

“Here.” She heard Sherlock say from next to her as he handed her a wet face cloth and another glass of water. She smiled at him as she took them. She figured this was payback for all the times he’d shown up bleeding or high on her doorstep. 

 

“Did you have anything to eat or drink at all?” John asked again. 

 

“Just some tea with milk and sugar and plain toast. And water. Lots of water.” Molly explained, remembering the tray with another smile towards Sherlock. He was now holding the cloth to the back of her neck while she put the cold glass against her forehead and nose, smiling at the relief. 

 

John nodded as he took out his sphygmomanometre and placed the cuff around the top of Molly’s left arm, and placed the stethoscope’s drum to the inside of her elbow. He pumped the air into the cuff as he watched the dial change and timed her pulse. 

 

“Well, your blood pressure’s definitely low and I’m guessing you might be starting to dehydrate as well, which would make you feel very dizzy indeed. As for the vomiting, it might be a bad case of the stomach flu, there’s a lot of it going round at the moment, it’s really bad this year.” He explained. “Hasn’t Amanda just gotten over her third one, Sherlock?” He asked his friend. When Sherlock nodded, the doctor continued. “You might have gotten it from her without realising. She would’ve been fine but not completely recovered yet. Rest and fluids, lots of them. Take another Pepto if it makes you feel better, though I would try and stay away from the paracetamol as that won’t help your blood pressure one bit. Taking in some electrolytes will help with that and might perk you up a bit, I can drop some sachets off at your flat on my home later today if you want.” John offered. 

 

Molly declined with a smile, drinking the water that was turning warmer by the second. 

 

“You’re free to stay until you feel better.” Sherlock said. 

 

“Thank you. That would be nice. I don’t feel like getting on the tube or a bus right now.” She admitted. “Though I do want my Toby right now.” 

 

“I’ll get Anthea to drop him off if you want and she can get you your medicine.” He offered again. When Molly accepted with a blush he turned to John and Mary. “Would you mind keeping Amanda for another day or two? I can’t have her catching this again, she stayed up for three nights the last time.” Sherlock asked. 

 

“Don’t worry about Amanda.” Mary insisted. “We’ll get her things and she can stay with us till Molly’s up and feeling better. She won’t miss any school, either.” Mary promised brushing Molly’s hair back into a ponytail very maternally and rubbing her shoulders. “You get better and then we’ll go out for lunch.” Molly’s stomach growled so loudly at the mention of food she was sure Mrs. Hudson could hear it from downstairs. The idea of food however, made that same stomach upturn and she felt another bout of nausea coming on. Molly groaned in protest, throwing her head back.

 

Sherlock had to smile at how child-like Molly’s reactions were. He’d never had to take care of a sick adult before but he was starting to think that it wouldn’t be too hard with Molly Hooper. He texted Anthea about Toby and the medicine before turning to Molly. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep some rice down?” He asked as he placed his phone back in the breast pocket of the dressing gown he was still wearing.

 

“I think so.” Molly grumbled from where she’d buried her face in a pillow she was hugging to her. “I want my Toby.” She continued. 

 

“He’s on his way.” Sherlock patted her arm and turned to get up when he saw a little face peeking into the room. “I think someone wants to say hello.” He told Molly as he gestured for the little girl to come in. Amanda shuffled inside still rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Molly said while covering her mouth as the little girl sat on the far edge of the bed next to her father. 

 

“Hello, Molly. Are you sick?” Amanda asked wearily.

 

“Yes, sweetie. I have that icky flu you had not that long ago, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to take you to the park today like I promised.” Molly explained still holding a hand in front of her mouth to stop any germs getting anywhere close to the girl. 

 

“That’s okay Mol-mol. You get better.” Amanda reassured using her favourite nickname for the pathologist while she patted her brown hair with a little hand. 

 

“Don’t get too close, sweetheart, you might get sick again and I don’t want that.” Molly pouted. 

 

“Do you mind if you stay with Uncle John and Aunt Mary, so I can help Molly get better?” Sherlock asked his daughter. 

 

“No, you take good care of her like you do with me, and I’ll be a good girl for Uncle John and Aunt Mary.” She said hugging her father. 

 

“You still have to go to school.” Sherlock added seeing straight through her guise. 

 

“But daddy!” She pulled back from her hug, looking up into his face. 

 

“No buts, except yours in your uniform and ready to go in five minutes.” He said very seriously, biting the inside of his mouth to stop the smile that was threatening to break his stance on the matter. 

 

The little girl huffed out of the bedroom stomping her way into the bathroom to get ready. Molly couldn’t help but let out a giggle as she remembered fondly all the identical mornings she had with her father and mother. Sherlock smiled back at her and promised her food soon before joining the Watsons in the living room. 

 

Five minutes later Anthea came up the stairs with a caged Toby and two brown paper bags to find Sherlock sitting in his chair with Amanda in his lap as he expertly twisted the girl’s hair into a perfect braid. 

 

“She’s in the bedroom. Give her the cat.” Sherlock forced through his lips without letting the required uniform blue elastic fall out of his mouth. He pointed towards the kitchen with his chin, never allowing his fingers to leave the braid. 

 

Anthea pulled Toby out of his cage and placed him gently on the bed next to his master’s sleeping form. Molly unconsciously gathered him in her arms and hugged the cat close to her. Toby, on his part, didn’t protest but settled into the warmth with a small meow before closing his eyes and proceeded to purr. 

 

She came back to the kitchen and dropped the two bags on the kitchen table. “Cat supplies.” She declared to Sherlock who had finished up his daughter’s hair and was now helping her gather her books in her bag. Anthea fished a smaller white paper bag out of her handbag. “Molly’s medicine. I didn’t have time for it now but I can get her more of her things later if you think she’ll stay the night again.” 

 

“Almost definitely.” Sherlock said to her without looking up from his daughter’s geography homework. Anthea left the flat as she heard him say. “You forgot to mention Ireland under your European countries, you have forty-seven not forty-eight as your title suggests.” He corrected. 

 

After Amanda left, the rest of the day went by smoothly with Molly sleeping soundly until around noon. The first sign Sherlock got of her having woken up was Toby scurrying over to him and rubbing his face all over Sherlock’s suit trousers in the hope of enticing the detective to give him his lunch. Sherlock obliged as he heard Molly getting up and using the bathroom. He was briefly worried that she might be getting sick again until he heard the shower turning on and the locks being turned. He turned around and started boiling the water for the rice he’d promised her earlier. He also made her a glass with one of the powdered electrolyte sachets Anthea had supplied earlier. 

 

When she came out of the bathroom Sherlock noticed that she had changed her top but not her pyjama bottoms. Her hair was loose and dripping around her shoulders and smelled refreshingly of strawberries which Sherlock could smell as she bent down to scratch Toby on his back as he nipped at the food Sherlock had made him. That was when he noticed that the shirt she was wearing was one of his t-shirts. He’d never liked sharing his things, especially his clothes and especially with sick people but he found that he wasn’t bothered by it at all. 

 

“Sorry.” She said when she noticed him looking at the shirt. “Mine was stained and the other one Anthea got me isn’t really comfortable for around the house.” She explained. 

 

“It’s perfectly fine, Molly.” He assured her as he switched off the hob. He drained the rice and ladled some onto a plate for her as she took a seat at the head of the table. Molly was amazed at how clean he was able to keep his flat after Amanda had arrived in his life. He laid the food in front of her and handed her a fork. She tucked in and sighed in relief as the fluffy pieces landed in her otherwise empty stomach. Sherlock watched her from where he leaned back on the counter in the kitchen next to her with a small smile on his lips. He was happy that he could help get her back to health like she had done so many times in the past. They stayed silent like that as Molly shovelled three more spoonfuls in her mouth. Finally Sherlock was inclined to stop her. 

 

“You know if you keep shovelling it into your mouth like that you’re bound to get sick again. Take your time and drink this. Anthea dropped off those sachets John was talking about and I mixed one in.” He smiled as he handed her the glass of water. She emptied it in one go and set the glass back on the counter, leaning back into the chair and taking a few deep breaths to pace herself. Sherlock silently refilled her glass and set it next to her again. 

 

“Thank you.” She said gratefully, smiling at her friend. “Do you want to continue to explain last night again?” She asked. 

 

“Were you really that hungover?” He mocked. 

 

“Sick, not hungover.” She corrected. “And you said you had more to discuss earlier before I went to sleep.” 

 

“Ah yes.” He remembered. He gathered a folder from the living room and sat down at the side of the table with the folder on the table in front of him. Sherlock explained in full detail, Leo Klein’s case and why he needed to go undercover in order to get the evidence as Molly continued eating the rice. 

 

“So let me get this straight.” She started. “This guy used to be an accountant for a huge mob boss in America and he just went to the F.B.I. with all this evidence in return for relocating here, but they think that he might be trying to start his own mob here with money he stole from his ex boss and you’re going undercover with Amanda to try and see if they’re right?” 

 

“Very well summarised.” Sherlock nodded. 

 

“And while you were in a club staking out a local gang leader he just happened to be there and you kissed me so he wouldn’t recognise you later on?” She continued. 

 

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded again, mixing in butter with his own plate of rice he had ladled a few moments ago. 

 

“And you think that’s a coincidence?” Molly asked unbelievably. 

 

“My thoughts exactly. But yes, it’s just that, I checked into both their backgrounds and Mycroft’s had men keeping track of them as well. As far as I can tell it’s only coincidence. The universe may rarely be so lazy but sometimes it is.” Sherlock said through a mouthful of rice. 

 

“Well what’s your next move?” Molly asked, intrigued as she had always been in his cases. 

 

“Ah, that is where I’m hoping you come in.” He explained, wiping his mouth on a napkin and setting it aside. 

 

“Me?” She asked. “Well, how can I help?” She was eager to get her mind off her illness, though it was still probably best to avoid the morgue and lab altogether. 

 

“Not in your usual way, I have to say from the start.” Sherlock explained. “Given that you were with me at the club last night, in a matter of speaking and seeing as we currently don’t know whether or not we are being surveilled I was wondering if you would accompany me while undercover?” He asked. 

 

“Like your partner?” She clarified. 

 

“Precisely so. Or more accurately, my wife.” Sherlock went on. 

 

“Your wife?!” She shouted. 

 

“Not in reality, Molly, please calm down.” Sherlock covered her hand with his on the table as he leaned closer. “I was wondering if you’d consent to being my fake wife and Amanda’s mother as part of our cover. It would definitely put my mind a lot more at ease knowing you can get her out at the first sign of trouble without us having to abandon the whole operation.” 

 

“What do you mean? I thought you said you were taking her because there wasn’t any danger.” 

 

“I did, and in all probability there won’t be so both of you would be safe but if something does go wrong then you can get Amanda out and I could very easily say that you took her to visit your mother after a marital spat and I would be able to go on with the case unhindered while you two made it to safety. Mycroft will be supervising the entire case closely and we’ve already come up with a number of scenarios that we are more than ready to handle. You would be just a precaution as well as a more believable story.” He explained, all the while his hand rested on hers and his blue eyes never left her brown ones. 

 

“Okay, but won’t we need new identities?” Molly asked. 

 

“Already taken care of.” Sherlock suddenly looked away and removed his hand to flip through the folder to a page in the back, taking it out he placed it in front of Molly. “I will be Paul Chambers, a journalist who writes most of his pieces in the comfort of his own home, Oxford educated. Married his university sweetheart, Ainsley Chambers nee Arlington, that’s you, 8 years ago before they had their daughter Amanda.” He recited looking at her in earnest. 

 

“Shouldn’t Amanda have a different name?” She asked cautiously. 

 

“Given her age, we thought it might only confuse her, though I told Mycroft we’d have to consult with her. She will most likely feel left out If we don’t change her name and will insist on doing so.” Sherlock clarified rolling his eyes at his daughter’s stubbornness. 

 

“And what is it that I do, Mr. Chambers?” She joked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him. 

 

“Successful paediatric doctor, putting her career on hold for a while to raise a family. It would certainly explain any medical knowledge or jargon you might unknowingly let slip.” Sherlock smiled. 

 

“Don’t you trust me?” She mock pouted.

 

“I-I. Of course, I-.” Sherlock stuttered taken off guard by the question. 

 

“Relax.” She laughed. “I was only joking. It makes perfect sense.” 

 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better enough to make jokes, Molly.” He said with a slight smile as he gathered the paper, closed the file and started clearing the table of their lunch. The rest of the day was mostly spent in companionable silence as Sherlock pattered away on his laptop and Molly watched a few shows on TV that Sherlock had deemed to be ‘nonsense’ a minute after he’d sat down next to her. Molly got sick twice more during the day and refused to eat anything more than toast and rice for dinner. Amanda called sometime around 9pm so Sherlock could read her a story over the phone. She mentioned that she was feeling sick but Sherlock took as an excuse to skip school the next day. 

 

That night, as Molly filled a glass of water to take to bed with her she saw Sherlock yawning from his armchair and trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes as he typed away at his keyboard. 

 

“You know, if you want I can sleep on the couch.” Molly offered. 

 

“Don’t be preposterous, Molly. Go to bed.” He waved her off without more than a glance. 

 

Five minutes later he sulked into the bedroom. 

 

“Do you mind if we share?” He yawned, scratching the back of his head and messing up the perfect curls. 

 

“Go ahead, but I am contagious.” She reminded him. “I can take the couch.” She offered again. 

 

“No, stay.” Sherlock insisted as he changed out of his suit and put on his pyjama pants and t-shirt. “Besides, I never get sick.” He continued as he lied down on the bed next to her. Toby slunk into the bedroom and hopped up, traversing their bodies to place himself between them.

 

“Does that  _ thing _ have to sleep here?” He asked frowning at the cat. 

 

“I’m feeling horrible again and he makes me feel better.” Molly smiled as she hugged Toby close to her. At the same time the cat meowed rather sharply at Sherlock as if to imply that the detective was the one to intrude. 

 

“Fine.” Sherlock grumbled as he flicked the sheets out over the three of them. 

 

At some point during the night Toby had released himself from Molly’s hold and curled himself up on Sherlock’s stomach. Molly’s head also migrated over to Sherlock’s chest and he, return wound one of his arms around her waist pulling her close into his side. Subconsciously he also placed a gentle hand on the cat’s neck. This was the scene Molly woke up to when she heard a knock at the door. She looked over at the window and noticed that it was light out. 

 

“Sherlock.” She nudged him gently awake. “Are you expecting someone?” She whispered sleepily. 

 

“No. Go back to sleep, they’ll go away eventually.” He groaned as he rolled on his side, holding the cat as he turned trying not to disturb the sleeping creature. Molly did as he asked and lied back down as Toby snuggled between them again. She was about to drift off back to sleep when she heard Mary in the living room.

 

“Sherlock?” she asked. “Are you sure he hasn’t gone out, Mrs Hudson?” Molly heard the blonde call down the stairs. She didn’t hear the land lady’s answer. 

 

“Sherlock, wake up. Mary’s here.” Molly kicked the detective. 

 

The only response she got from him was a groan and the pull of his pillow over his head. She sighed and got up, fetching her dressing gown.

 

“Morning Mary.” She greeted sleepily as she came out into the kitchen. “He’s asleep and I suspect he won’t be up for hours.” She explained but trailed off when she saw that her friend was holding a pale looking Amanda. “What’s wrong, darling?” She asked the girl as she rushed over to get a better look at her. 

 

“M shick.” She muttered from where her head rested on the nurse’s shoulder. “Where’s daddy? I want my daddy.” One small tear trailed down the girl’s cheek. 

 

“I’ll go wake him up, sweetie. I’ll tell him his baby needs him and if that doesn’t work Toby and I will drag him out.” She joked as she wiped the girl’s tear away, trying to get a weak smile. She knew the girl was feeling extremely awful when she didn’t get the smile she was looking for. Molly turned and went back to the bedroom, the sound of her staccato footsteps waking her up more. 

 

“Sherlock.” She rocked him by the shoulder. She put more into it when he simply groaned and ignored her. “Jesus, Sherlock! Wake up!” she shook him violently. 

 

“What!” He rolled over to look at her. 

 

She smiled despite her annoyance. “Mary’s got a little someone who says she’s feeling shick and wants her daddy.” She explained, mimicking Amanda’s lisp. 

 

All the anger disappeared from Sherlock’s face as he got up and rushed into the living room with Molly behind him. He gently took Amanda from Mary’s arms placing her head on his shoulder as he felt at the jugular vein for her pulse. Steady, blood pressure was still normal. Molly placed a hand on the back of Amanda's head and her arm, kissing her shoulder. 

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Sherlock asked Mary.

 

“Last night she wouldn’t go to sleep and kept telling us that she wasn’t feeling well and she wanted to call you. You said not to believe her and we figured she must just want you to read her a story over the phone or something. She slept straight through the night after John hung up with you. Then this morning she looked a little pale and her eyes looked red. I thought she must've been crying and got her dressed. We were about to leave when she got sick all over her uniform. John took a look at her and said it must be the stomach flu again, maybe she just got a little too close to Molly yesterday or it’s the same one she had coming out again.” Mary explained. 

 

“I told you I was shick.” Amanda complained, slurring her words. “You don’t believe me when I tell you.” 

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, panda.” Sherlock said, kissing the little girl’s forehead and noticing the high temperature. “She’s burning up.” He said turning back to Mary.

 

“She’s just developing it now. She was fairly okay when John saw her but he had to leave to get Hannah to school and get to work. I stayed behind to change her and bring her here. She felt fine to me when I got her in the car but was running the fever by the time we got here. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but if you want I’ll get John to come take a look at her again after his shift.”

 

“I’ll call, thank you, Mary.” Sherlock said as he took his daughter’s overnight bag from the woman. Mary nodded. 

 

“It was no problem, poor thing.” She patted Amanda’s arm. “I stuck her uniform in the washing machine before we left, I’ll get it back to you in the weekend. I’d love to stay and help take care but I’m going to be late for work. Goodbye. Feel better sweetheart.”

 

“Bye Mary.” Sherlock nodded as he sat his daughter down on the coach to get a better look at her. Molly crept back to the bedroom and came back out with Toby. 

 

“Look who wants to make you feel better sweetie.” Molly sang as she sat on her other side and placed the cat in her lap. Amanda stroked him as he rubbed himself on her chest. She turned to her father. “Where’s Huggas?”  she asked him, voice croaking. 

 

“Didn’t you have him with you at Hannah’s?” Sherlock asked her with concern, dragging the overnight bag over and looking in it. 

 

“No. You forgot to pack him.” She whined.

 

“No wonder you couldn’t get to sleep.” Sherlock scolded himself and hopped out of the room and up the stairs to her room.

 

“How are you feeling, panda?” Molly hugged her. 

 

“Yucky, icky, and ucky.” She described in detail.. 

 

“Oh my.” Molly said in mock worry. “It’s not good when you have all three, not good at all.” She shook her head as she stroked the girl’s raven curls. “At least you’re not feeling gooey, are you?” 

 

“That too.” She nodded. 

 

“I thought so. You’re coming down with a nasty case of yucky-snuffle-itis.” Molly diagnosed as Sherlock came back holding three soft toys. 

 

“Alright, so I found Huggas.” He sat down and handed Amanda a panda soft toy that was half her size. She took him and hugged her head into his chest. “And when I told all the toys you weren’t feeling so good, Cuddles and Bubbles wanted to come down and say hello.” He explained with all the truth in the world as he handed her a monkey and brown bear soft toy respectively. She took them happily but without changing the frown she had on her face. Somehow she managed to hug all three toys at the same time, though Sherlock couldn’t tell if it made her feel the slightest bit better. “Do you want to sleep in front of the T.V.?” Sherlock asked and when she nodded he stood up to go back to her room and get her bedding. Molly looked at him with an admiring smile and he smiled back before leaving the room.

 

The rest of the day was pretty miserable for all of them, watching her feel so awful. The closest she had come to feeling good was when Molly had sat down and watched  _ The Little Mermaid  _ with her but she’d had a coughing fit in the middle of it and complained that it had hurt her throat. Any fun she was having ended there when she couldn’t even sing along to the movie. Molly still wasn’t her usually cheerful self either, having to rush off to the bathroom at least twice that day. 

 

“Will you be staying another night then?” Sherlock asked from the kitchen as he was getting Amanda a sandwich. Molly was sitting in the red armchair across from his looking over an autopsy report her replacement had just finished and sent over to her. 

 

“If you don’t mind.” She answered. “Although if this one keeps it up, me vomiting all over a corpse is going to be a vast improvement.” She explained as she handed him the laptop to see. 

 

“Now you see why I prefer to work with you and you alone. It’s much easier to solve a case when you can trust that the autopsies are correct. Also you like it when I make deductions, other people insult me or  _ cry _ .” Sherlock admitted, making a disgusted face at the last word. 

 

Molly had to laugh. If it wasn’t outright gratitude at least it was some form of acknowledgement from him. She had to admit that he had been getting better at talking about feelings since Amanda came into his life. 

 

John eventually came to see Amanda and declared that it wasn’t the stomach flu as they had thought earlier but a bacterial infection. He prescribed a course of antibiotics, cough syrup & lots of TLC. Molly decided that even though she had managed to keep down a full dinner on Friday evening she was going to stay over all day Saturday to help take care of Amanda. And Sherlock. 

 

By the time the went to bed on Friday, Sherlock was very clearly coming down with a cold himself. Molly tried to take his temperature but he swatted her away. 

 

“I don’t get sick, Molly.” He said. 

 

“Everyone gets sick. It’s just a matter of time until you do too, especially since you’ve been taking care of Amanda and I for the last two days.” Molly said patiently, trying to sneak the thermometer into his mouth. 

 

“Exactly, I’m supposed to be taking care of you. You’re still not well, go to bed and worry about yourself.” 

 

Molly obliged with a smile towards the detective as she retreated to the bedroom they were now apparently sharing. But by the end of Saturday the tables had turned and it was Sherlock and Amanda sitting on the couch watching silly Disney movies while Molly took care of them. Sherlock was proving to be an especially difficult patient, even more so than Amanda who refused to take any of her medicine without at least half an hour’s coaxing. By Sunday night, Amanda had joined Molly in taking care of her father.


	5. And the Game Begins

“How long are you going to be away for this time?” Amanda asked her dad as she turned to him in the cab. 

 

“What makes you think I’m going away?” Sherlock asked suspiciously. He knew his daughter was smart but it was getting to a point where she was starting to be more observant than he was. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t tell his reactions as well as everyone else’s. 

 

“Because you weren’t late picking me up.” She explained. “You either forget to pick me up or you’re late when you do, not a lot, but late. Whenever you’re waiting for me when the doors open you’re going away.” She continued sadly, scooting up to him and pushing into his side, resting her head in the crook of his elbow. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going away this time.” He promised as he adjusted his arm and wrapped it around her. He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “At least not without you.” 

 

Amanda’s face lit up as she looked back up to her dad. “You mean it, I get to come with you?” 

 

“Of course, I couldn’t solve a crime without my partner.” Sherlock said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Uncle Mycroft’s waiting at home to give you your file.” He made his eyes twinkle on the last word, making it sound like she was getting all the presents she wanted at Christmas. 

 

The conversation continued with Amanda musing about the case they were going to be solving together and Sherlock, as much as other people would warn him not to, was encouraging her wherever he could. The cab pulled up to Baker Street and Sherlock paid the cabbie, holding the door open for his little girl. 

 

She ran up the stairs, nearly tripping twice and walked into the living where John, Mary, Mycroft, Anthea and Molly were all waiting for her to arrive. They had spent the last two hours setting up Sherlock, Molly and Amanda’s covers and preparing the details and logistics for the three to move into their new house, closer to the witness’. 

 

“Molly!” Amanda squealed throwing her hands up in the air with excitement when she saw her. 

 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Molly gushed as she ran to the little girl from the kitchen, picked her up and spun her around. “How are you, darling?” 

 

“Happy you’re here.” Amanda smiled as she hugged her adoptive mother. “Are you here to take me to the park like usual?” She asked glancing around at the number of people who were now gathered around in her father’s living room. 

 

“Not exactly, see I’m helping your daddy with his case.” Molly explained as she set her down. She looked over at Sherlock who was very obviously annoyed at the fact that Molly had just referred to him as ‘daddy’. Amanda was the only one who could do that. 

 

“Us.” Amanda corrected touching the older woman’s nose. “You’re helping  _ us _ with  _ our  _ case. Right daddy?” She prodded the detective. When he hesitated she continued. “You promised.” She said slowly, articulating every syllable in the exact way her father did when he wanted to be that little bit more persuasive. 

 

Sherlock could tell that the immediate widening of her eyes and the severity in them meant that Amanda was one word away from one of her temper tantrums that could easily last a week and ruin any plans anyone close to her had for that duration. The last one had lasted 10 days and 14 hours, alternating between screaming and stamping her heart out and giving him the silent treatment, while pouting and staring daggers at him from the couch. Sherlock finally relented and gave in when she refused to eat. 

 

“You’re helping with our case, Molly.” He said quickly, silently urging the pathologist not to argue with him, pleading with his eyes. 

 

He heard John mutter to Mary under his breath. “She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

 

Sherlock turned to go to the kitchen, stopping next to John on the way and breathed. “At least mine doesn’t call me her pet monkey and dresses me in pink tutus and pigtails. I do have to say John, bright pink lipstick really is not your colouring.”

 

“How do you know about that?” The doctor sighed, bracing himself for the onslaught of words that was sure to follow. 

 

“I deduced…” He started before Mary cleared her throat. “Mary sent pictures to everyone, do stay away from the blue eyeshadow as well.” Sherlock smirked before he continued on to the kitchen, leaving the couple to silently argue amongst themselves while Molly tried explaining to Amanda their roles in Sherlock’s cover. 

 

“Your daddy and I have to pretend to be married for a while, so you’re going to have to call me mummy. Do you think you can do that?” 

 

“Mhm.” Amanda nodded. “You are my mummy. Does this mean you and daddy get to have a wedding and I get to have a pretty dress and throw flowers?” She asked happily, excited at the prospect of cake as much as her Uncle was. 

 

“Ah, no. It’s all pretend. Like some of the games we play when you’re over at my flat.”

 

“But why can’t it be pretend with a real wedding?” She persisted. “You would look so pretty in white, Molly.” 

 

“We don’t need to have a wedding if we aren’t really going to be married.” Molly insisted. 

 

“But it’ll be so much fun.” Molly had to agree that it was very hard to say no to Amanda especially when she looked like her father whenever she said ‘fun’ and her eyes sparkled like his did when he found a particularly interesting case to solve. 

 

When she saw that no one was going to give in, Amanda made her move. “I won’t help unless you have a real pretend wedding, with real music and cake and dancing.” She turned to her father. “And I’ll tell everyone you’re not really married if you try to do the case without me.” There was that look again. 

 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, he hadn’t realised before now that there were  _ two of them _ he’d have to deal with, he thought his niece could be easily bought with chocolate and sweets. John covered his mouth with his hand to stop Sherlock seeing his insane grin. No, Amanda didn’t call Sherlock her pet monkey and dress him up like one of her classmates but Hannah had never gotten to the point of holding her father’s work ransom to get what she wanted. All three women, including the usually quiet Anthea were giggling in anticipation of Sherlock’s answer as father and daughter stared each other on, both waiting for the other to give in. 

 

“Fine.” Sherlock scowled like a child while Amanda clapped happily, hopping up and down. Sherlock stalked off to his bedroom, slamming the door shut. 

 

“Auntie Mary, get your camera ready please.” Amanda said sweetly. 

 

“Oh definitely, none of us want to forget this.” She agreed with a mischievous grin that rivalled the girl’s 

 

Sherlock came back out of his room slightly more composed than when he’d entered. He stopped in front of Molly, practically towering over her as he scowled at his daughter sitting on the arm of his chair with her feet on the seat, watching intently as she smiled back angelically. He took a deep breath and dropped to one knee, looking down. Molly stepped forward and she couldn’t help her grin. 

 

“Molly do stop grinning like that please.” Sherlock pleaded. 

 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” Molly shared. “I do have to say that you’re very adorable when you’re doing things just for her sake.” She giggled. At least, she’s smiling because it’s funny and because she’s deluding herself that there is actually some sort of affection behind this gesture, Sherlock thought. 

 

He nodded in agreement and cleared his throat, taking her hand in his and peeking up into her eyes from between the curls that lay on his forehead. “Molly Hooper, will you do me the honour of becoming, for the duration of the case, my wife?” 

 

“I suppose you can’t ask any nicer can you?” 

 

“Please?” He tried. 

 

“Well since you said please.” She joked. “Yes.” Amanda was jumping, squealing and clapping as Sherlock rose up, placed an intricate silver and diamond ring on Molly’s finger and hugged her as Mary, and discreetly Anthea, snapped pictures of the couple with their phones. 

 

“Happy now?” They both asked their daughter. 

 

She hopped down from the chair and grabbed Molly’s hand, pulling her out the door. “Dresses.” She commanded. 

 

“Help me.” She begged the room in general. 

 

“Ooh, I’m coming with.” Mary volunteered as she pocketed her mobile. “Lunch in the fridge for you and Hannah.” She pecked John’s cheek. 

 

“I suppose I should go along and help with organising the event.” Anthea asked Mycroft who simply nodded and all three women were suddenly gone and out the door. 

 

“Sherlock, was that granny’s ring?” Mycroft asked suddenly. 

 

“It most certainly was, Mycroft.” Sherlock said. “Well, you certainly weren’t going to use it.” He defended when Mycroft glared at him. 

 

“Well, that clearly means our parents will have to be in attendance, they would have noticed it missing by now.”

 

“It would certainly make the whole affair more believable, in case we are being watched. John don’t you have preparations to make?” He asked his best friend.

 

“For what?” The doctor asked curiously.

 

“I thought the best man was the one who organised that silly ritual men partake in before a wedding, what’s it called?” 

 

“A stag-do?” John clarified. 

 

“Yeah that. Although let’s not end up in a holding cell this time.”

 

“Does that mean I should invite Greg along?” 

 

“If it would save us the trouble. Mycroft’s coming too.” He said opening the newspaper and sitting down in his chair. 

 

“I am not!” Mycroft insisted. 

 

“You are, and we should probably invite father, he loves these things. Oh this is going to be boring isn’t it?” Sherlock asked John. 

 

“I’ll try my best to keep you entertained. Maybe have Greg reserve a few mysteries for you to solve on the night.” John offered. 

 

“Please.” 

 

“Right. I’ll be in touch then.” John made his way to the door. “And, Sherlock…” He turned around waiting for the other man to acknowledge him. When Sherlock lifted his head he continued “…try and be… _ civil _ to Molly, yeah?” 

 

“Of course, John. I wouldn’t dream of being anything less.”

 

With that the doctor left. Mycroft only added “I do hope you know what you’re doing, brother dear.” Before he too took his leave. 


	6. Summer Nights

Sherlock was sitting on one of the lab stools peering into the microscope in front of him, fiddling with the dial while Molly was finishing up some paperwork before her extended leave to marry him and help with his case. As usual they were working in companionable silence but Sherlock could sense that there was something Molly truly wanted to get off her chest. 

 

“What is it, Molly?” he asked almost annoyed. 

 

She sighed. Of course the bloody prick knew. “Well, Sherlock, you know how Mary, Anthea and I have pretty much planned the entire wedding by ourselves.” 

 

“I told you whatever you wanted was fine by me, as long as you and Amanda have fun in your little game of pretend.”

 

“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat before she continued. “Umm, we don’t have… that is, the girls and I haven’t planned… The groom usually takes care of the honeymoon, there I said it.” 

 

Sherlock blinked at her for a second, reading her expressions. “Molly you do realise that we  won’t truly be married and so consummating the marriage is out of the question, correct?” 

 

“Yes, Sherlock. You’ve made it painfully obvious that you have no desire to have sex with me. What I’m saying is that if someone is watching us then they’ll find it awfully suspicious that we aren’t on honeymoon. Also, I figured after a day doing all the things I want it would be nice if you and I could do something that you like.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Sherlock nodded after a second’s thought after which he returned to his microscope. 

 

A few minutes later the doors to the morgue burst open and Mary, John, Anthea and Mycroft walked in together, although strutting might have been a more appropriate description. Sherlock and Molly both looked up, startled, at the sound. 

 

“Uh, uh. No way are you working right up until your hen night and then cancelling because you’re too tired.” Mary waved her finger at the pathologist. “Come on, Miss Molly, let’s get you home before we get you hammered.” She laughed as Anthea helped Molly out of her lab-coat and pulled her ponytail loose. 

 

“We’ve got a very fun night planned for you, hun.” Anthea hooked her arm around Molly’s right as Mary mirrored on the left. It was amazing how close the three had grown in one month of wedding planning. 

 

“You too.” John said, pulling the microscope from under Sherlock’s eyes as Mycroft pulled the stool back from the desk causing Sherlock to nearly topple forward. 

 

“Why are you helping, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked indignantly, standing up straight to face his brother. 

 

“I have been reliably informed that there is one particular tradition that is usually administered by the groom’s brother when he has one.” Mycroft smiled rather menacingly. 

 

Molly had been nearly dragged out the door by her two bridesmaids when she heard John ask “Now?”

 

“Now.” Signalled Mycroft. John reached into his jacket and pulled out a small sack and pulled it over Sherlock’s face while Mycroft held his brother’s hands behind his back and swiftly handcuffed them. 

 

“What the hell?!” Sherlock’s muffled voice came from under the sack. “John, I insist you stop this ridiculous charade at once, uncuff me!” 

 

“Not a chance mate, this is the only way we could get you to go where we want you, even Mycroft agreed. You’ll have fun trust me. Mary could you hold the door open? He’s going to kick up a fuss.” 

 

“Mycroft put an end to this or I swear you’ll never hear the end of it from mummy.” He threatened as both men lifted him up and he started flailing his legs out in front of him. Molly simply watched them carry her fiance, for lack of a better word, out kicking and screaming with a smile of disbelief on her face. When they had disappeared down the hallway and Sherlock’s protestations could no longer be heard Anthea turned to Molly and asked

 

“Now will you come along quietly or are we going to have to kidnap you too?” 

 

“Lead the way.” Molly acquiesced. 

 

******

 

John, Sherlock and Mycroft’s first stop was to Baker Street to get Sherlock to change into something a little less professional than his usual attire. When he wasn’t looking Mycroft sneaked an extra set of clothes which he stowed away in the trunk of his car. He excused himself to go make a pick-up when Lestrade arrived with beer. 

 

“So what’s the plan then John?” The DI asked. 

 

“We’ll start at the pub and take things from there, Mycroft’s got a surprise waiting apparently.” 

 

Lestrade nodded his approval. “And in case anything happens that he’ll need help remembering, I’ve got this bad boy.” Lestrade showed John his camera. “Much better than the grainy phone pics I usually have to take.” 

 

They heard Sherlock coming out. “You got the cuffs?” John asked and they ambushed him again.

 

When they finally unbound Sherlock they were in a pub. 

 

“Where are we?” He asked

 

“Deduce it.” John challenged. 

 

“I thought we did crime scenes for your thing?” Sherlock said after a few seconds looking around. 

 

“Yeah but we didn’t do all of them and we’ve had more since then, plus this is more your thing.” 

 

“I thought Mycroft said he’d meet us here.” Greg grumbled through a mouthful of nuts. 

 

“Yeah, he said he was picking something up and then coming straight here, shouldn’t be long now.” John explained attracting the barman’s attention and motioning for him to bring over 3 beers.

 

They talked non-sense for the next 15 minutes while they waited for everyone to show up. 

 

“Hey, isn’t that Mycroft over there?” Greg said pointing to somewhere behind Sherlock and John towards the entrance. They all looked but dismissed it immediately since the man standing there clearly wasn’t Mycroft, but something about the man made Sherlock look again. 

 

“OH GOD NO!” He exclaimed. The other two turned to look at what had achieved such a reaction from their friend. The man standing there was in fact Mycroft Holmes but he was very,  _ very _ different from how they both knew him. The little hair he had was messed up to look even more voluminous than it actually was. He wore a very simple outfit of dark blue denim jeans, white t-shirt and black leather jacket, complemented with, what John thought looked like high-tops. Sherlock turned to John with an expression of shock and disbelief. “You didn’t!” 

 

“Mycroft said it was your favourite movie when you were a kid how was I supposed to know he turned up dressed like that.” 

 

“Ah, Sherlock. Nice to see you’ve already started enjoying yourself. Pace yourself, little brother, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.” Mycroft smiled wickedly.

 

“I hate you.” Sherlock snarled through gritted teeth. 

 

“I feel the same way now put your costume on.” Mycroft requested as he handed Sherlock a set of clothes almost identical to the ones he was wearing. Sherlock could now see that the jacket had the words ‘T-birds’ on the back in white. 

 

“Fine. But only if I’m Danny.” Sherlock scowled. 

 

“I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you.” Mycroft said snidely as he handed out identical leather jackets to John and Greg. 

 

“HEY!” a loud shout came suddenly and a tall dark-haired man dressed in the same jacket engulfed Sherlock in an embrace. 

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock finally asked when the older man let go of him. 

 

“You didn’t think we’d miss this did you? Mycroft called us up the moment it was confirmed.”

 

“Correction: he called you up, he dragged me out of the house kicking and screaming.” A young version of Sherlock with glasses said as he pushed his spectacles up his nose. 

 

“At least he didn’t handcuff you and stuff you in the back like they did me.” Sherlock ruffled the younger one’s hair. 

 

“Ah, Mycroft not that I mind you inviting anyone but who are they?” John tried to ask quietly. 

 

“Sherrinford Holmes, Sherly and Myc’s older brother.” The older man said extending his hand, John returned the gesture and shook it. “That’s the youngest of the bunch, Quentin. He doesn’t get out much.” He pointed over to mini-Sherlock. The detective had sneaked off to the bathroom to change into his costume given that he was now the only one without one.

 

“Jesus Christ, there’s four of them.” Greg mumbled to John at one point. “Their poor parents.” 

 

John ordered more beer but it wasn’t long after Sherlock returned that they heard another ruckus coming from the direction of the door as three other men who were dressed similarly approached. Greg was about to make a remark about there not being any more brothers when he noticed that they looked nothing like the four that were around the table. The three brunet men greeted John enthusiastically. 

 

“Right, where is he?” One of the men said as he looked at all the faces around the table. “You!” he pointed towards Sherlock. “You Molly’s guy?” He asked. 

 

“Yes?” Sherlock, not too sure how to answer, spoke up. He quickly made the deduction that the man was clearly trying to intimidate him, as were his two slightly younger, identical twin brothers standing at either one of his shoulders. They were, all four the exact same height except that the brothers were standing and Sherlock was sitting. The detective grinned, cleared his throat and stood up, hovering for a moment before he extended his hand and said “Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective.” 

 

The twins at the back paled when they saw how tall he actually was but the one at the front simply took Sherlock’s hand and said “Pleased to meet you. Michael Hooper, these two idiots are my brothers George and Harry, don’t be afraid to confuse them, by the end of the night they won’t know which is which either.” 

 

“Molly’s brothers?” Sherlock asked, looking at John for help. “Molly never mentioned she had brothers.” 

 

“Yeah.” George said. 

 

“And two sisters.” Harry said. 

 

All nine men sat around the table and started drinking again, all talking over each other, mentioning all manner of jobs, children, wives, addresses, pets and jokes. They had all just drowned their 3rd pint of beer, when Sherlock and Quentin, who were talking amongst themselves rather silently pointed to a women at the end of the bar. As she turned to look at them, her mouth spread into a slightly lopsided smile. John took one look at her and started to panic. She was clad in skin-tight black leggings, black top and had red high heels on. She made her way over to Sherlock. 

 

“Hey, you.” She said kindly as she sat on his lap. Sherlock put his arm around her and smiled back up at her. 

 

“Well, hello there.” Harry said who was the one sitting right next to Sherlock and now the closest to her. She barely registered the smaller man though. 

 

“Down boy, you’re spoken for.” George said from his other side. 

 

“Uh. ‘Scuse me.” John said from across the table. “I specifically said no strippers or hookers.” 

 

“What did you just call me?!” She demanded furiously. Her blue eyes sparkling with anger. 

 

John looked to Sherlock for help but he could see an almost similar anger in his eyes. Mycroft, Ford (as Sherrinford had insisted on calling him) and Quentin all looked at the army doctor as if waiting for him to spontaneously combust merely due to the young woman’s glare. 

 

She turned back to Sherlock, still fuming, and gave him an open palm hit on the back of the head, turning his anger into shock. “And are you going to just let him call your little sister a slut?” she demanded. 

 

John could feel his blood stop pumping at that moment, and yet it seemed as if all of it was rushing to his head with embarrassment. He felt his mouth pop open to apologise but nothing would come out as he took in the impossible similarities between her and all four of her brothers. The black hair which cascaded in soft curls, the slender figure, those impossibly high cheekbones and eyes possibly bluer than Sherlock’s. She had the same elongated face, too. Now that he thought about it John could swear she looked like what Sherlock had looked like that one time he had to wear a dress for that one case, except for the breasts, of course. 

 

Sherlock breathed out impatiently as it became evident that John was not going to be the first to speak. “Once again, John. You see yet you don’t observe.” 

 

“Oh you’re John Watson.” She smiled happily now. “Well in that case I suppose I can forgive you. At least I can tell your fiancee that your best man is keeping you faithful.” She spoke the last to Sherlock. 

 

“What are you doing here?” He asked in surprise. 

 

“Ah the same reason all my siblings are here for. I heard my favourite brother was getting married in two days and thought ‘well I have to see this with my own eyes.’” 

 

“Since when is he your favourite?” Quentin asked indignantly.

 

“Since he read me bedtime stories and made all the funny voices and you blew up my dolls.”

 

“Pull up a chair, Catherine.” Sherlock said.

 

“No I can’t stay, I’ve been invited to Molly’s hen night and I’m already late as it is. I just wanted to see you before I got all sloshed and seeing as you can’t hold your alcohol, none of you would’ve recognised me if I’d shown up an hour later.” She got up and kissed Sherlock’s cheek and hugged him. Quentin huffed into the last of his beer. “Oh you’re not mad, are you, Q? You get one of these.” A hug. “And these too.” A rather noisy kiss on the cheek which left more of a red lipstick stain on him than on Sherlock. She stood up to go. “Well I’m off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys. It was very nice to meet you John Watson.” 

 

“Sorry.” He finally managed to get out. 

 

She nodded and left. 

 

Half an hour later, as Catherine Holmes parked her brand new Mercedes in the underground car park of one of the most prestigious hotels in London, she sent a text to Anthea telling her she’d arrived. She took the elevator up to the lobby where she and Anthea greeted each other like old university friends. 

 

“How was your flight?” The assistant asked. 

 

“Absolutely wonde-ful, dah-link!” Catherine joked and they tittered off together. 

 

“Good. I’m glad you liked first class. Your room is all ready and your luggage is waiting for you, room 307.” Anthea said rather professionally as she handed her the key-card. They both stepped back into the elevator and rode it to the third floor. 

 

Anthea talked with Catherine while she changed in her room and then they walked together along 7 doors. The corridor was completely silent except for muffled music now coming out of room 314. Anthea opened the door and the music was no longer muffled as a modern, re-mixed version of ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ got louder as both girls stepped into the room. Catherine took in the sight of the women in the room. There was a blonde with blue eyes, three brunettes, all with brown eyes, two redheaded identical twins with green eyes, and a tall woman with black hair and grey eyes. 

 

“Right, we’re all here now.” Anthea addressed the room. “Everyone, this is Catherine, Sherlock’s  _ much _ younger sister.”

 

“Sherlock has a sister?” Molly and Mary asked simultaneously, shocked at Anthea’s words.

 

“I’m the sane one in the family.” Catherine said with a smile as she held her hand out in front of her for Molly to take. 

 

“Wow. It’s really nice to meet you, I guess.” Molly said taking her hand and shaking it, staring in wonder at the slender woman’s resemblance to Sherlock.  

 

“Let me guess you don’t know about the brothers either?” Catherine asked, knowing about Sherlock’s reluctance to let people know about his siblings wherever possible.

 

“I know Mycroft, obviously.” Molly answered nodding towards Anthea in explanation. “But  _ brothers?  _ I don’t know about any others.” She continued stretching the s at the end of brothers for emphasis. 

 

“Oh! Well, he and Mycroft have an older brother, Sherrinford, we call him Ford, he’s about 3 years older than Myc, which makes him 10 years older than Sherlock.” 

 

“Wow, talk about  _ older.”  _ Molly commented. 

 

“Yeah, and if that wasn’t a large enough gap, they’ve got a younger brother, Quentin, who’s 14 years Sherlock’s junior. Thankfully that just makes him two years older than me.” Catherine finished with a laugh. 

 

“Wait so you’re…” Molly trailed off to count in her head. “… twenty-three?” 

 

“Yep. Just turned in March. But tell me about you, how is it that a pathologist from central London managed to get my brother to fall head over heels in love with her?”

 

“Oh, we’ve worked together for a long time, that’s all.” Molly tried avoiding any details in her answer, glancing at Anthea for help. 

 

“Catherine, this is Mary, John Watson’s wife, she’ll be one of the bridesmaids with us.” 

 

“Wait, I’m a bridesmaid?” Catherine asked Molly surprised. 

 

“Yes, we all are.” Mary nodded. 

 

“Everyone except me.” The taller brunette added. Molly’s sister, definitely older, definitely drunk, Catherine thought as she stepped towards her. “Madeline Saunders.” She slurred. “Oops! I meant Hooper. Saunders was my married name.” 

 

“Sorry.” Molly mouthed from behind her sister’s shoulder. She brought up both her fists, keeping them together at the sides and brought them apart quickly to signal that she’d been through a bad break up. 

 

“Thank you for including me, Molly. I didn’t think you would have since, well, since we’ve never met before.” Catherine turned to the bride-to-be after Madeline was led away by her younger sister (May, she was later told.) Catherine was truly touched that her soon-to-be sister-in-law was including her in her special day. “It means so much! Sherlock’s my favourite brother and I would love nothing more than the see him trip over his tails.” She tittered. 

 

“I think we’re all waiting to see that, though he did prove to be a rather great dancer at our wedding.” Mary continued as she sipped at her Margarita. 

 

“Ooh can I get one of those?” Catherine asked pointing at Mary’s glass. 

 

“Definitely, come through.” Molly took her by the wrist and led her further into the room, under an archway where a bar sat at one side of the room with a topless bartender. 

 

“Oh.” Catherine arched one perfectly tweezed eyebrow considering the scene before her. “I don’t know if I want a sex on the beach or a screaming orgasm.” She joked. 

 

“I think I may want a screaming orgasm on the beach with him.” May tittered as she stood next to her and gave her a devilish wink. 

 

Molly introduced Catherine to her three sisters-in-law, Sandra the tall black haired woman who looked like an exotic cocktail waitress in her black silk negligee with champagne coloured leaves who was married to Michael and the redheaded twins, Jane & Julia, sitting cross-legged in their matching cotton baby-dolls, one in blue and the other in mint who were married to Molly’s twin brothers, Harry and George. Once everyone got properly acquainted and changed into their nightdresses or modest lingerie, they started really enjoying themselves. 

 

They were all sitting around talking about relationships and men when Catherine got up enough courage, with the help of a significant amount of alcohol which the bartender whose name she learnt was Hugo, to ask a question that had been bugging her for years. 

 

“So Ant,” she affectionately called her friend - they’d been friends since the first day Anthea had started working for Mycroft. “What’s going on with my brother? I haven’t seen him in ages.” She started. 

 

“Lots of work. I do wish he’d take a day off, if only to give  _ me _ a break.” Anthea huffed, now sitting in black lace and silk that went halfway down her thigh. 

 

“Has you spread pretty thin, huh?” She teased as she threw the grey-eyed redhead a wink.

 

“It’s not like that” Anthea blushed. 

 

“Oh my god, you have the hots for Mycroft?” Mary asked from next to a hammered Molly, who was trying to convince her sister Madeline that the bed was a much softer place than the floor for her to lie down. 

 

“Who does?” Molly turned to Mary at her outburst. 

 

“Anthea. From the way she’s blushing I’d say she’s into Mycroft as much as you’re into Sherlock.” Mary elbowed Molly in the abs. 

 

“Really?” Molly gushed. “I don’t know why but I’ve always kind of shipped you two together.” She tittered as she raised her glass to meet her lips again. 

 

“Just because I’m the only woman you’ve ever seen with him doesn’t mean he’s into me that way.” Anthea defended her boss, truth be told she was tired of it but it had grown into an instinct by now. 

 

“From the way he looks at you I’d say different.” Catherine countered as she leaned back on her arms to stretch her legs out of the criss-cross sitting position. 

 

“The last time you saw us in the same place was when I took you to that bar and we got so ridiculously sloshed that I ended up texting him to pick us up instead of the driver.” Anthea reminisced while kicking Catherine’s legs. She turned to the others before she continued. Catherine smiled in anticipation. “There was this one guy who’d been asking us for like two hours if we wanted to go out with him, he was so desperate. As we were leaving, this one, saw him coming up to us again and before I knew it we ended up full on snogging each other to try and get him to think we were lesbians, and who should walk in the door at that minute, but Mycroft!” 

 

“I still can’t forget the look on his face!” Catherine roared with laughter along with the rest of the party. “Then in the car he was about to start talking about it and the look of relief on his face when I told him we weren’t together and both completely straight was absolutely laughable.” She turned slightly more serious as she told her friend. “I’m telling you, he’s so into you, Thea.” 

 

“You really think so?” She asked hopefully. 

 

“Yeah, you just need to try and coax it out of him.” Catherine reached over and rubbed her arm affectionately. 

 

The mood picked up again after that with games, more drinks, dancing, jokes and, everyone’s personal favourite: Pin the Tail on the Groom. It was as Anthea was spinning a blindfolded Molly, in her white lace negligee, around and Mary was starting to guide her vocally to Sherlock’s pictured arse that they heard a flurry of beeping noises coming from somewhere in the room. 

 

Molly, Mary, Anthea and Catherine all received texts from Greg, John, Mycroft and Quentin respectively asking them to come to an address not 5 minutes away from the hotel they were staying in. The girls put on their clothes and pink leather jackets, which had been distributed around by Anthea earlier on in the night and left with glee, singing at the top of their lungs as they hit the streets together arms in arms. 

 

As they got close to the address they could hear men shouting and general rowdiness close by. But it wasn’t until they got to a corner away that they realised the noise was coming from the stag party. 

 

“Oh my god!” Molly shouted, bending in two with laughter as she took the scene in front of her in. There stood 8 men, most of which she was friends with or related to, in a half circle all with their phones out filming something in front of them, pointing and laughing all the while. The ‘something’ turned out to be a naked Sherlock who was handcuffed to a light pole. Molly stepped over to John and placed her hand on his shoulder, gripping it for support. 

 

“Molly? Did you really have to call Molly, John?” Sherlock asked irritated when he spotted her. Somehow Greg had tricked him into thinking that he had a case, but when they got there he’d declared it was ‘the case of the tied up naked groom’ and they had all jumped him, tearing at his clothes and cuffing him to the pole. 

 

He’d been standing there for a good 8 minutes now and the cold was not doing him any favours. He heard more female laughter coming from the same corner Molly had turned a few moments ago and spotted his sister, Mary and Anthea along with the others quickly approaching. 

 

“Did you really have to call all of them?” Sherlock let out an anguished cry as he banged his head on the pole in front of him.

 

“Oh my, Sherlock. Mummy’s going to absolutely  _ love _ this. Definitely our next family Christmas card.” Catherine guffawed as she snapped pictures with her phone. 

 

“WHO CALLED CAT?!” Sherlock screamed looking at his two older brothers, they all knew how much their sister loved to blackmail them using photos. 

 

“I did.” Quentin raised his hand from the sitting position he’d adopted on the floor when he couldn’t stand through the laughter anymore. 

 

“I take back what I said earlier.” Catherine told Quentin as she switched her camera to take a video. “After this you’re my new favourite brother.” She sat down next to him and threw one of her arms around his neck as they laughed together. 

 

“Greg, I was wrong, I prefer the holding cell.” Sherlock called as he softly thudded his head against the pole repeatedly. 

 

“Wouldn’t you know it, I get a show and he says he’s wrong. Not to mention he’s gotten my name right. I hope someone got that on video because I want to put it on a loop for the rest of my life.” Greg smiled drunkenly. 

 

Molly moved forward now, picking up Sherlock’s discarded leather jacket from the sidewalk. There was a chorus of moans from the small crowd as they realised that the fun was over. Molly placed her hand between the pole and Sherlock’s head as he pulled it back to give another thud. 

 

“Can you stop that please?” She asked him when he looked at her. “I don’t want my groom showing up to our wedding with a large bruise on his forehead.” 

 

“Please, get me out of here.” He whispered, not wanting the others to hear him, afraid they might do the same to Molly. 

 

“Sherlock, I’m marrying you in two days, and that means I’m going to help you out in difficult situations no matter how laughable they are to me.” She caressed his bicep affectionately. 

 

“Thank you, Molly.” He breathed relief at the idea of release. 

 

Molly nodded and stepped back spreading out the jacket, one sleeve in each of her hands. 

 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock gulped at the realisation of her actions. 

 

“I’m helping you out of a difficult situation.” She repeated as she placed the inside back of the jacket against his pale arse, which looked paler due to the moonlight, and brought the sleeves over his sides and the pole to where his hands laid tied. She knotted the ends together. “We wouldn’t want any of those nasty paparazzi that are always following you to get a picture of you naked on to the newspapers, now would we?” She patted his cheek twice as she trotted off back near the others. 

 

The laughter picked up again and went on for another 10 minutes at least. 


	7. Get Me to the Church on Time

Among all the members of both wedding parties, Mary Watson was the first one up of all of them. As the rest of her little family got ready, she packed for both Hannah and herself and got dressed. Molly had given all the women in her party a white button down shirt with pink letters on the back spelling out their position and their initials on the front pocket, including Amanda who was the flower girl and Hannah who was to be a young bridesmaid. She’d prepared lemon biscuits the previous night, which could be consumed without making a mess and she hummed to herself as she packed them up. She set the self-sealing container in the living room next to a silver and white wrapped gift box that Hannah would be gifting the bride.

 

Mary had seen a beautiful set of photo frames in a craft shop the other day and knowing how much Molly loved handmade items she bought the pieces for Hannah to give as her wedding present as she already had something in mind for the bride. The frames were made of wood, with the base of the frame painted silver, while a spray of blue, clay flowers littered the top right corner of the frame and a white butterfly lingered on the bottom left corner. The other frame was an exact mirror image of it. 

 

While the family was quietly eating breakfast, the parents listening to their daughter muse about the lovely dress she would be wearing that day, the doorbell rang.

 

“That’ll be the florist.” Mary called back from the hallway. She opened the door and stared in horror as the man handed her the groomsmen’s boutonnieres. It took a while of arguing with the delivery man and explaining that he was supposed to be delivering the bouquets to this address but eventually the driver was able to ascertain that his colleague had the bouquets and was on his way with them to Baker Street and not, Mary shuddered, Liverpool. She agreed to take the ‘man flowers’ as he had so crassly called the buttonhole arrangements and decided to fix the mess herself. 

 

Mary closed the door and returned to her, now cold, breakfast. She quickly called Catherine and advised her about the change of plans, telling her that she would be needing to collect the flowers when she picked Amanda up from her father’s. She recited the list of things she needed to make sure were included with the delivery and made a mental note to pack 3 of the boutonnieres with her as Molly’s brother and his two sons would be getting their flowers at the hotel.

 

At about 7.45am John started packing up the car, manoeuvring the staircase with two rolling suitcases, as Mary rummaged about in her handbag and made sure that everything she needed had been collected, including two copies of her speech, contact information and the day's schedule and order of events. Hannah was secured into the back seat and they both kissed John goodbye. After that Mary drove off with a small sigh as she mentally collected herself again.

 

When Mary and Hannah finally got to the hotel half an hour later, they found everyone already in the room. Anthea, Catherine and May were sorting out the dresses and accessories for all the bridal attendants to avoid confusion later on. Molly was talking with Mrs. Holmes and her mother about what they were planning for the young girls in the party regards hair and make-up, if any. Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she realised they hadn’t already started getting ready. She set her things inside and went to greet the other bridesmaids, before turning to greet Molly, who seemed as pleased as punch about everything, and update her on the flower situation. 

—————————————

 

Sherlock woke up much earlier than he had anticipated and would have been far too content to go back to sleep if he didn’t have to make sure that his daughter was ready when his sister picked her up later. After he had gotten ready, he went to Amanda’s bedroom, passing the sleeping Q that was still sprawled on the couch with his mess of curls so similar to Sherlock’s, covering the majority of his face. One particular curl flew up and down in conjunction with his breathing rhythms. Sherlock smiled as he remembered fondly the memories of a young Q sneaking into his older brother’s bed at night because he couldn’t sleep in the dark alone and Sherlock, not having the heart to refuse him, would always hug him close and tell him thrilling stories that would send him straight to sleep. 

 

“Wake up, panda.” He said softly as he shook his daughter’s shoulder. 

 

“Five more minutes, daddy.” She said sleepily, squinting her eyes against the light coming in from the window. It took Sherlock another 8 minutes to convince the girl that the wedding was today and that she would miss it if she didn’t get up. In the end tickling the sleep out of her was what finally worked. 

 

“Can my horse take me down to breakfast?” She asked when Sherlock stopped tickling her. 

 

“If my princess desires.” He sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Go on, get on you little monkey.” He turned on the bed so that his back was facing her. She slung her arms around his shoulders and  hitched herself up comfortably onto his back, locking her arms together around his neck. Sherlock made sure that both he and Amanda were holding tightly before he got up and walked downstairs, towing his daughter on his back as she shouted out orders to her ‘horse’

 

“Giddy up, giddy up.” She shouted with glee, waking Q up with the noise. The more he got to know his niece the more he realised how much like his younger sister she was. 

 

“Amanda, if you shout any louder you’ll bring the house down.” Q said, flopping backwards onto the couch again as he covered his eyes with his forearm. 

 

“Charge!” Amanda ordered loudly. The instruction was all Q heard before he felt his niece dropping on him. “Good morning, Uncle Q.” She greeted sweetly when he looked at her with the little disdain he could muster at this time of the day. 

 

“Good morning, Amanda.” He grunted. 

 

“Come on. Get up. It’s time for the wedding.” She jumped up, standing next to the couch now and ripping Q’s wrist away from his face. “Do you want breakfast?” She said with her face getting far too close to Q’s so that all he could see were her too blue eyes that could only come from their side of the family. He did have to admit that he actually loved the little girl that obviously brought so much happiness in his older brother’s life. 

 

“I’d love some breakfast.” He answered gruffly, looking towards his brother in the kitchen who returned with a nod, as Q sat up and scooped her up to sit in his lap. “Are you excited for the big day?” he hugged. 

 

“Mhm. I get to wear a big pretty princess dress and throw flowers on the carpet to make it pretty for Molly.” She described her duties with excitement. 

 

“Is it a very pretty dress or a very, very pretty dress?” Q asked with mock excitement. 

 

She continued describing her garment for the occasion to her uncle, in hushed tones because apparently her father couldn’t know anything about the dresses before he saw them in church according to Auntie Catherine, until breakfast was ready. Sherrinford arrived as they were eating and made himself a cup of coffee as he joined them at the table. Sherlock had to send Amanda to start getting washed and dressed then before she could get distracted with describing the dress all over again for Uncle Ford’s sake. 

 

“You should go in when she’s finished.” Sherlock told Q. “You don’t want to end up being photographed in your underwear, mummy will make sure to keep those in the album.” He joked as he took another sip of his tea. 

 

“Please don’t start, it’s going to be a long reception and I’m seated next to her apparently.” Q moaned. 

 

When Amanda came out she had successfully dressed herself, except for the untucked white button down shirt whose buttons she was still struggling with. 

 

“Come here.” Sherlock said as he sat her on the table and undid and then redid all the buttons correctly. “You never remember to tuck your shirts in.” He complained as he folded the ends neatly and stuck them under her shorts’ elastic. He brushed and pulled her hair back into a ponytail so that he could now see clearly the pink letters that spelt out ‘flower girl’ on the back of her shirt that matched with the three letters printed on the front breast pocket, A.M.H. 

 

Sherlock could hear voices downstairs and turned to look as Mycroft, John, and his father Siger joined them in the flat. 

 

“Ah, I see we’re not too late.” Siger said from the doorway as his two other sons greeted him. “How are you holding up, Sherlock?” Siger asked him. 

 

“Perfectly fine.” Sherlock shrugged not understanding the meaning behind the question. 

 

“It’s perfectly normal to feel nervous. I was a wreck the morning before I married your mother.” Siger admitted. 

 

“Dad, I’m fine, and anyone would have been nervous to marry mother. Molly’s different.” Sherlock told him. 

 

“Oh? Talk to me in 20 years.” Siger joked. “Now, where’s my favourite granddaughter?” He called into the kitchen. 

 

“Grandpa!” she cheered gleefully. “I didn’t know you were coming.” She said happily as the older man picked her up. 

 

“Of course. You didn’t think I’d miss such a big day for your father, did you?” 

 

“Please stop.” Sherlock muttered as he looked at Mycroft across the room. It was obvious that when his brother had delivered the news he had failed to mention to his parents that it was just as cover for his case. He figured it was pointless to deliver the news now and ruin their excitement for the day. 

 

Siger sat down on the couch with Amanda on his lap chatting away joyously about her dress again as John approached Sherlock giving him the flowers to put in the fridge and asking where the suits were. Sherlock had placed them in his bedroom, away from any messes that were caused around the rest of the house. 

 

John found everything he needed in the closet and set about sorting things and checking the sizes. When he checked the shoes he determined that they needed shining. He grabbed the 6 boxes he needed and took them out onto the kitchen table and then brought out a wooden box from among his things which held his shoe shining kit. 

 

“Get to work, there’s 6 pairs so I think you could do with some help.” John told Sherlock nodding towards his brothers seated among the flat. Q had migrated to the bathroom to get washed, Ford was making tea for his father and brothers, Mycroft was reading the newspaper and Siger was still listening to his granddaughter’s musings about the flowers. 

 

“Sherlock?” He called from next to the bed. Sherlock peered into the room. “Have you written your letter to Molly?”

 

“What letter?” Sherlock asked confused. 

 

“Well, usually the groom writes the bride a letter that she reads before the ceremony. It might be nice to tell Molly something that you might not get the chance to otherwise.” He prodded gently. 

 

“What would I write?” Sherlock blinked in confusion. 

 

“Anything you want. Even if it’s just to say thank you for going through with this and helping with the case. You don’t have to do it but I think she would appreciate it.” 

 

Sherlock nodded and headed back out into the hallway, nearly bumping into Q who was exiting the bathroom with his wet curls dripping water all over the floor and into his eyes. “Sorry.” He said. “I have no idea what I’m going to do with this.” Q admitted as he used his hand to lift the cover of hair from in front of his eyes. 

 

“Leave it to me.” Sherlock said sympathetically. He remembered his own struggle with hair at the same age Q was now. “Use this for now.” Sherlock stepped into the bathroom and picked up a black hair clip that belonged to Amanda from the side of the sink. He took the tip of Q’s fringe and clipped it back to the top of his head, making sure that the accessory was hidden among the locks, he knew that Ford and Mycroft were not the forgiving type and they were not the kindest when the opportunity arose to make fun of their younger brothers. “Can you go ask Mrs. Hudson for her letter writing things?” He asked. Q nodded and left the flat. 

 

Sherlock picked up his phone from the kitchen counter and sent a quick text. When he had received the response he was expecting, he grabbed the shoe box labelled as Mycroft’s and shoved it into his brother’s lap, crumpling the newspaper he was reading. 

 

“Shine those!” He ordered Mycroft as he sat down at his laptop on the table in the living room and started trying to phrase the letter to Molly. He discreetly smiled as he saw Mycroft leaving the armchair he had been seated in and join Ford at the kitchen table which had now turned into the unofficial shining station. Q returned shortly after sitting opposite Sherlock. 

 

“Mrs Hudson said she’ll bring her things up in a minute. I think she needs to remember where she placed them.” Q said. When he realised that Sherlock wasn’t paying attention to him, he kicked him under the table.

 

“Ow.” Sherlock looked across at his brother. 

 

“What are you going to do about my hair. You said you’d fix it.” He demanded. 

 

“In a minute, I have to finish this letter to Molly. I need to finish it before Cat gets here.” Sherlock explained as he continued tapping away at his laptop. Q joined his brothers in shining the shoes while he waited. Mrs Hudson eventually appeared with a box of crisp beige stationary and a fountain pen. 

 

“Hoo, hoo. Here you go dear, I’m sorry I couldn’t find any stamps. Maybe someone could pop down to the newsagent’s and get you some.” 

 

“That’s okay, Mrs Hudson, I don’t need a stamp.”

 

“Oh, are you writing your letter to the bride? That’s lovely dear, though you shouldn’t have left it till the last minute.”

 

“Thank you Mrs Hudson, I think I hear the doorbell now, goodbye.” 

 

Mrs Hudson left the flat to answer the door where indeed someone was ringing the doorbell. She showed the young man up the stairs when he asked for Sherlock. 

 

“Ah, Louis.” Sherlock greeted without looking up from the laptop. 

 

“Sherlock.” The man nodded. “You said you had an emergency.” 

 

“I do. Well not me, my brother, Q.” He called. When Q appeared in the living room, Sherlock pulled the hair clip out. “My wedding is less than 7 hours away and my brother needs a little help. Q this is my barber if he can’t make your hair behave you’re a hopeless case.”

 

“No such thing as a hopeless case.” Louis said as he took out a chair from the table and motioned for Q to sit in it. He started snipping away at the bush of hair after Q, armed with Sherlock’s opinions, had told the barber what he wanted. 

 

For a while the only sounds in the flat were those of key tapping, scissor snipping, shoe polishing and letter writing. Amanda had convinced her grandfather to go to her room and have a small tea party before getting picked up and since everyone seemed to be leaving him to his granddaughter he was more than happy to oblige. 

 

To everyone’s dismay, the photographer and videographer assigned to capturing the groomsmen getting ready were early. Q was still getting his hair done and Sherlock was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown when they arrived. Thankfully they agreed to take their time setting up quietly and allow everyone else to get camera-ready before the actual shooting started. Sherlock had just sat down and started hand-writing the letter to Molly (of which the photographer happily got a few good shots), when he heard the doorbell downstairs. 

 

Catherine came up the stairs just as Amanda and Siger were coming down from the girl’s room. 

 

“Auntie Cat!” Amanda declared happily. 

 

“Hello darling. Are you ready for the big day?” 

 

“Mhm, I’ve been practising my walk. I practised all day yesterday.” 

 

“That’s good. Hello daddy.” She said with a kiss on the older man’s cheek. 

 

“Hello sweetheart. Can you believe our Sherlock’s getting married?” He asked her with a hint of emotional pride.

 

“Oh don’t start daddy. We have the entire ceremony to be emotional. Molly’s already cried twice and it’s not even 9 o’clock yet.” 

 

Catherine moved further into the living room and saw Q sitting in front of the barber. “Aw, Q’s first big boy haircut.” She said taking out her phone and snapping a picture. “Look at you getting your hair done up all nice for the wedding.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. 

 

Sherlock wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation as he scribbled out the last few lines of the letter, folded it and put it neatly in its envelope. He scrawled out Molly’s name on the back and stood to hand it to Catherine. 

 

“Here. For Molly’s eyes only.” He warned. 

 

“Okay. I take it our flowers haven’t arrived yet?” She asked in a business like tone. Sherlock shook his head in answer. 

 

“I should make sure Amanda has everything she needs. Where are her bags and have you packed her sleepover things?”

 

“Her bag is up in her room. Why does she need her sleepover things?”

 

“Because she’s not exactly coming with you and Molly to the honeymoon suite after the reception. Come on darling, let’s go get your things ready.” She told Amanda, holding out her hand for the little girl to take and lead her to her room. Eventually they came back down, with Amanda hopping on the stairs and Catherine carrying the two duffel bags. She had managed to convince Amanda that three toys were enough to witness the big day and then tell the others about it. The photographer decided he wanted a few shots of Amanda and her dad together before the commotion of the ceremony, Sherlock obliged because it made his daughter happy. 

 

The flowers finally arriving sent Catherine into bridesmaid mode. She called Mary on her way down to make sure she didn’t miss anything, and John, who had migrated over to the shoe shining table and was taking care of his own shoes, followed to help. 

 

“Mary, tell Molly that the flowers are all here, and Mrs Hudson has her corsage. Yes I checked. All of it Mary. Fine yes if I must, I have Molly’s bridal bouquet, 4 bridesmaid’s bouquets and Hannah’s little matching one. Flower girl petals, flowers for our hair and 2 corsages for the mums. I already told you I gave Mrs Hudson hers already.” Catherine hung up. “Honestly your wife needs to chill.” She told John. 

 

“You should have seen her at our wedding.” John joked. “Please don’t tell her I said that.” He said. 

 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She turned to Amanda. “Right, panda that means we can go.” 

 

“I don’t understand why the flowers are blue when the dresses are purple.” John muttered to Sherlock as Catherine gathered up the things. 

 

“The dresses are blue John.” Sherlock said. 

 

“How would you know you haven’t seen them, I’ve seen both Mary and Hannah’s and they’re purple.” 

 

“Amanda said her dress was blue. Panda, what colour is your dress?” 

 

“Blue! With white and sparkles.”

 

“See. The dresses are blue and so are the flowers.”

 

“You’re going to trust a six-year-old whose range of different colours barely makes a rainbow?”

 

“I’m going to trust the opinion of someone who didn’t call the lilac bridesmaids dresses purple. Let’s settle this: Cat, are the dresses blue or purple?” 

 

“Blue. It’s a very particular shade. It’s the same as your tie.”

 

“I’m not wearing a tie.”

 

“Listen to me. It took Molly, Anthea and Mary 4 days to find someone who would supply ties in that colour. You’re wearing that tie, or you will hang by it, Sherlock. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, fine. Tell Molly I am definitely wearing the tie.” 

 

John had brought out one of the ties from the bedroom. 

 

“See this is purple.” John insisted. 

 

“Nah, mate. That’s blue.” Ford said, coming over to him. “That’s Navy blue.”

 

“That’s not Navy blue, that’s bloody purple.”

 

“It’s neither it’s Indigo.” Q said 

 

“It’s Prussian blue!” Mycroft, Sherlock and Catherine said together. 

 

“Thank you.” Catherine said. “Yes the dresses are blue and the flowers are purple but they look so similar you can hardly tell the difference.”

 

“How is this blue.” John raised the tie. “And that purple?” he pointed to the very blue bouquet. 

 

“This is Prussian blue, it has hints of purple but is still blue. That is a purple orchid, it took Anthea 3 weeks to find that particular colouring. Yes it does look blue but it’s purple because blue orchids don’t exist and Molly insisted on only natural flowers.”

 

“Okay.” John surrendered. 

 

“Amanda come on, darling we’re going to be late.”

 

“One more kiss for daddy.” Sherlock asked. Amanda obliged and the photographer took his chance again. 

 

—————————————

 

Back at the hotel, Molly was facing near meltdown mode as the fabulous up-style she had asked the hairdresser to do ended up looking like something that was more at home on the head of a poodle. The hairstyle she had seen had soft and perfectly round curls pinned to the top of the head so that they formed a perfectly shaped bump at the back of the head where the veil rests. What she had instead were dry horrible looking ringlets piled on top of her head that looked more like a beehive than a bump. The moment she saw it she started to cry. This was the hairdresser’s second attempt of the day and they were losing precious time. She hadn’t even started on the bridesmaids yet, and where the hell was Catherine with Amanda and the flowers?

 

Everyone was crowding around her to try and stop the tears and reassure that it was going to be fine, except for the mothers who were currently berating the stylist with words. All the stylist could say was that she didn’t know what happened, it was fine when they tried it a week ago. The solution seemed to rest with Catherine who thought she’d walked into a war zone when she entered the room, followed by Amanda. She stood behind Molly and placed her head next to the bride’s so that she could talk to the reflection. 

 

“Don’t bite my head off, but how set are you on an up-style? It’s just that your hair looks so much better down.”

 

“I don’t care about the up-do anymore I just don’t want hair that looks like hay!” She whimpered. 

 

“Do you have an assistant?” Catherine turned to the stylist. When the woman nodded, she ordered. “Then get them here asap and start washing her hair, and don’t screw it up this time or I swear you’ll never work another wedding in your lifetime.” She barked. 

 

Mabel Holmes ran over to her soon-to-be daughter-in-law and started pulling out the pins while the stylist contacted her helper. Anthea stepped up and started unpinning the other side of Molly’s hair.

 

“Anthea.” Mabel said. “Make sure you have a back up stylist ready and waiting in case that bimbo screws up again.” Anthea nodded fearing an argument with the Holmes matriarch. She knew for a fact that even Mycroft was afraid of his mother when she got angry, and he was Anthea’s boss. 

 

Twenty minutes later both Molly and Catherine were getting their hair washed and ready for styling. Molly had decided that she wanted the hairdresser to try a much simpler style this time. One with curls flowing down her back and the sides pinned at the top to create beautiful folds in her hair where the veil would still be able to be attached as well as some of the flowers she had ordered. Molly couldn’t help thinking over in her head how much Catherine reminded her of Sherlock. She reached over to squeeze Catherine’s hand that was resting on her thigh. 

 

“Thank you for that.” She whispered. 

 

“No biggie. It’s what bridesmaids are there for.” 

 

“No I mean. I always tell Sherlock not to talk like that to people and right now I suppose that’s exactly what I need. Also he’s always saying my hair looks better down, and you reminded me.” 

 

“Well, he’s right about that last one. It frames your face much better. Besides up-dos can give you a headache after a while and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

 

“No.” She laughed. “Speaking of Sherlock, I wanted to ask if you two were really close. I mean he’s never talked about you, at least not in front of me, but something makes me think that you two are much closer than he and Mycroft.”

 

“Ah.” Catherine nodded. “My brothers’ relationships with each other are weird. Sherrinford and Mycroft are really close, though you wouldn’t know it to see them together and they’d deny it if you asked. They’re much closer together than any of them are with Sherlock anyway.”

 

“Why is that?” Molly asked curiously. 

 

“Well, Ford’s the oldest and Myc’s only 3 years younger, Sherlock is 7 years younger than Mycroft making him 10 years younger than Ford. It’s the same with me and Q. He showed up 14 years after Sherlock and then mum had me two years later.” 

 

“Wow. Talk about your age gap.” 

 

“Mhm. The thing is though, Sherlock’s closer with us than he is with Myc and Ford. I suppose it’s because they were too old to ever be able to have anything in common with him and Sherlock always did say he was kind of lonely before Q was born.”

 

“So what changed. I mean Sherlock was 14 when Q was born, surely he wasn’t interested in playing big brother.” 

 

“He wasn’t.” Catherine laughed. “The thing about Sherlock is, because he never had to share anything with his brothers, he never wanted to share anything with anyone. He’s possessive of everything that’s his. Incredibly so. He was even more possessive of the things he made himself. When Sherlock was about 15 the school he went to introduced a new measure and they all had to learn a craft and Sherlock was sent to the wood workshop. He has dozens of cars, planes and ships all made out of wood, they’re absolutely beautiful. He had this shed in the back garden that was a combination lab and workshop, god knows what he got up to in there, but Q used to sneak in after him and steal his things. He must’ve thought they were his toys or something because he always took them. According to mum, Sherlock would throw a hissy fit anytime Q did it and Q would throw a tantrum if you ever took anything he was playing with away.”

 

“I wonder who was the more mature one.” 

 

“You’d think that they would end up resenting each other. Mum says they did until Q stole a piece that wasn’t ready and got splinters all over his hand. Sherlock felt awful and he sat with him for hours getting all the splinters out. Q never took anything without asking again and Sherlock never said no. And then I came along.” She laughed. “When Q became a big brother, he told Sherlock he wanted to be just like him. So whenever mum needed a sitter for her darling baby, Q always volunteered and Sherlock always helped him, so it was always just the three of us. The others were always busy with work, and yeah, they’d come to the Christmas dinners and family gatherings but even when Sherlock went to university, he picked Cambridge over Oxford, much to Mycroft’s dismay. It was very close to home so he ended up staying rather than living in a dorm. He only moved away when I was about 12 but he still made it a point to visit every month.”

 

“I never thought of Sherlock as the family type.” 

 

“He is. I mean you see him with Amanda, that’s pretty much how he always was with me and Q. I hear people saying he’s not cut out to be a dad, but the truth is, he practically was a second one to me and Q.”

 

“That’s so sweet.” 

 

They kept talking about family and their relationships while the stylists finished their hair. Thankfully, Molly’s hairdresser had calmed herself enough to not make another mistake and the bride’s hair looked exquisite now. Anthea and Mary put the finishing touches on both hairstyles while the stylists started washing Hannah and Amanda’s hair. Both girls were going to have the same style as the bridesmaids but with a braid around the back of the head instead of a twist, with the ends coming down in curls. 

 

Mary helped Molly get into her underwear and back into her shirt with the word ‘bride’ printed on the back before they settled her into the make-up artist’s chair. The rest of the day went by swimmingly. The photographer and videographer arrived with no delays and quickly started taking photos of the party in their matching white shirts. The two mothers were getting their hair finalised  as the last bridesmaid, Anthea, was getting her make-up done. Mary and Molly were sitting on the bed applying a little mascara, blush and lip-gloss to the two little girls’ faces. Catherine was just coming out from behind the screen that was placed to act as a dressing room in the hotel bedroom, fidgeting with the neckline of her dress, when she stopped in front of the curtain and swooped it away with one of her hands. 

 

“Oh no.” 

 

“What?” Molly and Mary asked simultaneously as panic appeared on their faces. 

 

“It’s raining. It’s not much , it’s just a trickle but it’s raining.” She bemoaned. 

 

“No worries, I’ll call the coordinator and have her drag the party inside. The cars’ tops can come up and we have umbrellas if need be.” Anthea said as she swiped her phone screen and sent a quick text to the person in charge at the venue as the make-up artist announced that she was done with her. 

 

“Come on, Molly. Let’s get you into your dress and then we have a nice surprise for you.” Mary said as she and the other three bridesmaids put on their white gloves and helped Molly into the gown. They helped her put the shoes on as the photographer snapped away at his camera, recording the moment. Catherine was trying to imagine Sherlock’s reaction when she remembered something he’d given her. 

 

“Molly, I nearly forgot. Sherlock sent you this.” She said as she handed Molly the beige envelope with her name on it. 

 

Molly opened the letter which was only a page long and sat down on the bed as she read it. Tears started streaming from her eyes as she read what was obviously a heart-felt letter penned by her groom. She could hear the murmurs of the girls and the clicking of the camera but other than that she was unaware of everything else that was going on around her. Sherlock’s name at the bottom followed by the little ‘x’ he placed just after it suddenly became blurred as his words overwhelmed her. She folded the letter up again and handed it to Mary. 

 

“Can you put this in my things, I think I’m gonna need a minute.” 

 

“Oh, sure hun. Is everything okay?”

 

“That always seems to be the reaction around my boy.” Mabel Holmes sighed. 

 

“No, no. These are happy tears. That letter’s is full of the nicest things he’s ever said to me.” 

 

“It’s a good thing the mascara’s waterproof then.” Anthea said as she handed her a tissue. “Come on let’s get your make-up retouched.” 

 

—————————————

 

Back at Baker Street the boys were finally dressed and brushed. Q’s hair was behaving much more easily now after getting a nice long treatment from Sherlock’s barber. Sherlock was packed and the suitcases would shortly be on their way to the honeymoon suite along with Molly’s, and Siger’s emotional part for the day was done as he had decided that he would give Sherlock a pep talk and advice about being married whether the groom wanted it or not.

 

All that remained was for the flowers to be attached, which they all agreed should be the final thing they did before they left. The men were all currently sitting around the room, facing each other, each with a glass of whiskey in hand as they reminisced. 

 

“It’s too bad you’ve already written your speech, this is some great material you’ve got.” John told Sherlock as he took a swig from his glass draining the contents. 

 

“Speech?” Sherlock answered confused. He hadn’t the slightest idea what John was talking about. 

 

“You have written your groom’s speech right?” John questioned, lowering his glass and looking his best friend straight in the eye. 

 

“Oh that, yes definitely, it’s… taken care of.” Sherlock muttered as he brought the glass back up to his mouth. 

 

“Sherlock, I know when you’re lying and that is definitely a lie. What are you planning to do?” John asked the detective. Thankfully Mary had been teaching him all the little signs to telling when Sherlock was lying. 

 

“Oh come on, it’s no big deal. I’ll just… make it up as I go along.” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand as he reclined back in his chair. 

 

“Make what up?” Ford asked from across the room. He had been engaged in conversation with his father and Mycroft and was only now listening in on the one John and Sherlock were having. 

 

“He’s not written his speech for today.” John explained when all Sherlock did was groan.

 

“Oh dear.” Mycroft said from the couch beside his father. 

 

“Come on, Sherlock, let’s try and help you write an acceptable one.” Siger said as he stood up and brushed the lap of his trousers. There was a quick flurry of activity as all the men got up and moved the table and a chair to the middle of the room, Q got out his laptop and Ford confiscated Sherlock’s, quickly getting past the password. Mycroft was on his phone, presumably also on the Internet checking out the elements of a good groom’s speech. John pulled Sherlock into the chair while his father cleared up all the glasses from around the room. 

 

“I can’t believe you forgot to write your speech.” John muttered to him. 

 

“You didn’t give a speech at your wedding.” Sherlock retorted recalling no memory of the event. 

 

“Yes I did, I just kept it very short because after the fiasco you caused no one wanted to listen anymore.” John quipped back. 

 

“It’s not my fault you hired a murderer to take your pictures.” Sherlock defended himself.

 

“Enough, here’s the pen and here are the cards, write.” John commanded in a whispered tone. 

 

“I don’t need to I’ll just make it up on the spot.” Sherlock insisted again. 

 

“Oh no you won’t. Molly and Mary are trusting me to make sure you don’t make a fool of yourself and ruin the day and that means you need to write the speech down.” John  repeated, making sure Sherlock heard the force behind his words this time. 

 

“This is unnecessary.” Sherlock groaned, throwing his head back and messing up his curls again. 

 

“Look. You might not be getting married ‘for real’ but you at least have to make an effort at the speech, and no murder!” John whispered to him bending over to look him in the eyes, before standing up and adding “I’ll go get your brush.”  And walking away. 

 

“Okay, I think I’ve found something.” Ford said from his seat on Sherlock’s armchair. “Take a look at this, it might give you some ideas.” He offered, standing up and putting Sherlock’s laptop on the table in front of him. 

 

“You can’t really expect me to say that!” He gestured with his hands to the words on the screen. 

 

“Look you don’t have time for your tantrums, just use that as an example, substitute all the names for the ones that are actually in the wedding and be done with it.” Ford suggested, nonchalantly placing both his hands in his pockets. 

 

“The traditional features of a groom’s speech seem to be mostly words of thanks to the wedding attendants as well as emotional gratitude to both sets of parents, including the bride’s on her behalf and then a short description about how your previous dating period with the bride was so, quote ‘wonderful’ and how you cannot wait to spend the rest of your life with her. All followed by their own respective toasts, of course.” Mycroft added. 

 

“Whatever you do, don’t do what this guy did. His speech isn’t even 60 words long, it’s more of an announcement than a speech. He basically thanked everyone for coming, asked the attendants to come forward and then announced that the buffet was open. I’m no romantic but even I can tell that’s probably the worst speech in history.” 

 

Sherlock ruffled his hair again, he figured as long as his father was willing to give him support, he might as well ask. “Dad, what was your speech like?” 

 

“Oh the usual. I thanked everyone for coming, and for the generous gifts, which is very important. I remember I got some rather nice flowers for both your nans, and then I read a poem I had written for your mother. Give me a minute, I think I can remember how it goes if you’d like to use it.”

 

“No, thank you, I think it’s best if it remains with mum, don’t you? More  _ sentimental _ that way.” He said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

 

“Oh I don’t know Sherlock, I think mummy would simply love it if you recited that poem to her new daughter in law, in front of everyone, with all the cameras poised to record it for posterity’s sake.” Mycroft answered with a smile at the idea of humiliating his brother. 

 

“But then what would you use on your special day, Mycroft?” Sherlock retorted sarcastically again, bending his head down and looking at the blank cards. This was the second time today he had to write concerning Molly. 

 

John came back to the room with a brush in his hand and set it on the table. “Come on, Sherlock. Writing my speech wasn’t that hard, a best man’s speech is harder and you didn’t make a total cock up of that at my wedding so just, write down what you think will work and I’ll polish out the rough bits for you.” John offered gently clapping a hand on his best mate’s back. 

 

Sherlock started writing out points on the cards John had provided, trying extremely hard to avoid any allusions to his work. He could hear Mrs. Hudson clacking away in her heels downstairs as she left the building. Was that Lestrade who was picking her up? He briefly wondered as he jotted down a few more points. He handed John three note cards with bulleted points for him to check over before adding in the joining sentences. 

 

“What does this say?” John asked pointing at a line Sherlock had made on the second piece. 

 

“Oh, um, make generic joke about dead bodies and corpses.”

 

“Of course.” John sighed as everyone chorused in with their own little exclamations. “Can’t you please avoid death and murder for one day?” 

 

“I can’t even make one little joke? You are aware that Molly is a pathologist and that most of our ‘bonding’ actually happened over corpses, cases and coffee.” Sherlock insisted, bringing up his fingers to make air quotations around the word bonding. 

 

“Nice use of alliteration, you could use that.” John encouraged. “And you can have one mention of death, if Molly or Mary approve it before hand.” John joked returning to perusing the cards. 

 

“Can’t I do anything without Molly’s approval?” Sherlock asked indignantly. 

 

“Well you are marrying her mate, so no.” Ford piped up from the leather armchair causing the men around him to chuckle. 

 

An hour later, as a shower of rain was sprinkling London, Sherlock had the final draft of an 8 or so minute speech ready for John to go over again, complete with a tasteful joke about corpses which he was rather proud of. He was even prouder when he saw John silently tittering in his old armchair when he got to that part in the speech. 

 

—————————————

 

Back at the Hotel, the two mothers were getting into their dresses: Silver for Margaret Hooper and gray lavender for Mabel Holmes. All four maids and Molly were dressed and were now in the process of getting the children into their gowns. It wasn’t a hard task per say because the children wanted nothing more. The problem was trying to get them to stop playing tea party after that to avoid them getting anything on their dress. 

 

“Right, one last thing left to do then.” Molly announced with a small clap of her hands. “Presents.” She said gleefully. 

 

“Presents?” The two girls said simultaneously. They both got up and ran to their suitcases, thinking that Molly had meant it was time to give the bride presents and not the other way around. 

 

As Molly started handing out large monogrammed tote bags with the trademark white and blue flower graphic that had decorated pretty much everything to do with the wedding over the last month. Inside was a clutch bag that matched the colour of the dresses perfectly. Molly had asked the girls to buy a necklace which they could customise after the wedding, a charm necklace if you will, with Murano glass charms in Prussian Blue and Silver. They had bought the necklace and earrings with Molly insisting that the matching bracelet was far too expensive and unnecessary. There was a bright lime green oval box that matched the ones the necklace and earrings had come in. It was about the size of their entire hand and inside sat a silver charm bracelet with two matching Murano glass charms and a silver charm with the first name initial of the wearer.

 

“They’re beautiful.” Catherine said, twirling the little C around her thumb and forefinger. It was now that Catherine saw Molly wearing the same bracelet but with a lot of different charms. Among them she spied an S charm. 

 

“It’s so you can wear them today but there’s more.” Molly said nodding at the bag as Hannah and Amanda both went up to her with their wrapped gifts. More proved to be a rather expensive spa set, luxurious truffles and macaroons, a personalised notebook with the same pattern that was on the tote bag and matching pen, with a thank you letter inside the notebook, and because she was Molly and couldn’t resist, a miniature teddy bear dressed as a bridesmaid sitting on a cardboard platform with the words ‘special bridesmaid’ printed just below its feet. 

 

In the meantime, Molly was receiving the handmade frames from Hannah, and a much larger similar grey teddy bear wearing a white dress and veil. Amanda had gotten creative and added one of her blue ribbons (which she had asked Molly to buy when they bought the dress so, of course, it matched perfectly.) tied across the Teddy Bear’s front from her shoulder to her opposite hip, with the word ‘Mummy’ written in glitter. She kissed and hugged both girls thank you before handing them similar tote bags to the ones their older counterparts had received. 

 

They had a children’s version of the clutch bag but they had the same bracelet, in a smaller size. As well as the same teddy bear, in a larger size and notebook and pen, but instead of the Spa set and truffles, they both got a copy of their favourite Disney movie on DVD;  _ The Little Mermaid _ for Amanda and  _ Sleeping Beauty _ for Hannah. They also got the corresponding princess doll and a bar of chocolate. 

 

The bridesmaids had all chipped in and bought Molly a somewhat extensive gardening set. When she asked why, despite her loving it, Mary answered. 

 

“You haven’t seen your new garden yet.” The maid of honour said with a wink. More photos were snapped as the girls popped the champagne and each had a celebratory drink.  The mothers were helped into their hats, which would have rivalled the ones seen at Ascot. As Margaret helped her daughter to go to the bathroom in her large dress she revealed that Mabel had gifted her the hat, as a present between mothers. 

 

Molly’s eldest brother Michael, along with his two sons Lucas who was 7 and David who was 5, arrived at the hotel around noon, all dressed in the matching morning suits Molly silently prayed Sherlock had gotten into without a fuss. Molly gave her two nephews similar gift bags to the ones she had given her god-daughter and adoptive daughter. Theirs differed in that it contained personalised money boxes, tuxedo wearing teddies,  _ The Incredibles  _ and _ Cars  _ DVDs and two corresponding action figures with chocolate. The bag also contained a tie pin and set of cufflinks which the boys could wear to the wedding. The cherry on top of the cake though was a toy spy set which Molly had added a ‘grown up’ watch to. The two boys were introduced to Hannah and Amanda, whom they would be joining down the aisle. Lucas was chosen as the leading usher along with Hannah who was the leading bridesmaid and David would be joining Amanda while carrying the ring pillow. 

 

—————————————

 

“Right boys, I think it’s time we got a move on. Q can you get the flowers from the fridge, please?” John asked the mini-Sherlock with glasses as he checked his e-mail one last time for any last minute messages he might have missed. “Okay, so duties. Mycroft you are the head usher…” John started before being cut off by Ford. 

 

“Why does he get to be the head usher? I’m the oldest.” He asked incredulously like a petulant child. John rubbed his forehead with his hand patiently before continuing. He had a feeling this was going to be a very long day indeed. 

 

“I’m just repeating what the girls told me and if you had seen all four of them together like I did you wouldn’t be so inclined to argue, believe me.” He explained to Ford before turning back to the Holmes brother he was most familiar with after Sherlock. “Mycroft you are the head usher, which means you are in charge of making sure that everything runs with military precision at the ceremony. You also need to give me a signal when they’re ready to start walking down the aisle. Here’s the schedule.” Mycroft answered with a firm nod, taking the stationary from John and looking it over. He had to admit that he was rather honoured to be more than just an usher. He had gotten used to telling people what to do.

 

“Ford you’ll be master of ceremonies at the reception, which basically means you get to announce what the bride and groom are doing next that might interest everyone. So, arrival, garter throw, speeches, first dance, you get the gist. I think the most important thing you’ll have to do all day is announce that the buffet and bar are open. This is a list Mary sent of how things should go but if you have any trouble just ask her at the reception. Also since all the readers are your cousins and you’re more likely to recognise them than I am, you’ll be handing their reading over to them when they get to the church and make sure they’re seated appropriately.” John said as he handed a few cards to Ford. 

 

“Siger, you’ll be helping out seating the guests according to the groom’s and bride’s side. I’m told you’re to keep the first two rows of each side empty for immediate family.” 

 

“Righto, sir.” Siger chuckled 

 

“Where’s Q?” 

 

“Here.” The younger Holmes said, sticking his head out of the fridge and chewing on a piece of toast with blueberry jam.

 

“If you’re going to drop any jam, keep it off the silver waistcoat and aim for the blue tie.” John joked before he cleared his throat and continued. “Since everyone will pretty much be busy inside, you’re going to need to greet the guests at the door. Basically ask if they’re there for the bride or groom, bride’s guests go on the left, groom’s on the right. You’ll also be keeping an eye out for Molly’s motorcade. When you do see it, come tell me, and get Mycroft, Ford, and your dad to the back of the church with as little disturbance as possible. And then you’re in charge of the processional, making sure that everyone is where they need to be in line. Cat’s going to be helping you but she’s asked for your help specifically.” John finished as he handed Q a diagram of the processional and recessional with names written on it to help when the time came. “Guard these with your life, we are both dead if they get lost. You find the ring bearer, you tie them securely to the pillow and you make sure they can’t fall off.” John warned sternly as he handed Q two golden rings, one with diamonds and the other without. 

 

“Shouldn’t the best man keep the rings?” Q asked nervously. 

 

“Yes, but I’m always losing things, it’s a miracle I haven’t lost them yet and you are going to be arranging the processional while I’m going to be on the other side of the church completely so I won’t be able to hand them over at that time.” John said letting out a puff of air. 

 

“Sherlock, you’re with me, don’t disappear. Now, jackets and flowers, boys.” John moved to the kitchen table and started opening the plastic containers and taking out the decorative pins, handing them out to each individual. He had to help Sherlock with his because the groom didn’t seem to be able to push the pin through the fabric at the back. “Sherlock stop squirming or I’ll end up sticking you.” John warned to which the detective just huffed back. 

 

When they were all finally pinned, John ran through the checklist one last time. “Right everyone’s dressed. Ties, tie pins, cuff links, phone, speech, money, duties, messages.” He muttered under his breath, eyeing everyone around the room to make sure they all had everything. “Handkerchiefs, rings. Suitcases are gone. Sherlock, do you have your speech and your vows, just in case?” 

 

Sherlock quickly recited his vows back to John waving the end off dismissively as if it was an obvious deduction. “Just because you choked halfway through your vows doesn’t mean we all will.” Sherlock added with a smile. “And I have my speech, right here. Are you remembering to breathe?” 

 

“Top hats.” John said in response as he looked around the room to where the top hats were sitting in a box behind the door. “And gloves.” He added as he handed them out to everyone. “That’s it, we’re all ready, I’ll go check if the car is here.” John left the flat and went down the stairs, trying to remember to breathe against the stuffy morning suit as he reached the front door. He pulled the knob back expecting the door to swing indoors as it usually did but instead it remained closed with only a small thud. 

 

He tried again, pulling harder this time. 

 

Nothing but thud, the door and his heart both making the ghastly noise. 

 

He tried wrenching the door back and forward, as if trying to loosen a stuck one. The noise changed to thud-a-thud-a-thud-a-thud, as the door remained unopened. John tried pulling it once more, putting all his weight and even pushing with his leg against the wall. When it still wouldn’t budge, he returned, red faced, to the flat. 

 

“Sherlock, do you know why the front door won’t open?” He asked as he tried to catch his breath back. 

 

“What do you mean it won’t open? It’s a door it’s supposed to open.” Sherlock answered. 

 

“Yeah thanks for that brilliant observation, Captain Obvious.” John spat back. “The fact remains that it won’t open.” He insisted. 

 

“Let me try.” Sherlock huffed as he stalked out of the room and down the stairs. John could hear the familiar thudding noises and pulled his jacket off. He took the phone out of his pocket and flung the jacket over the back of his armchair before he dialled the number of the driver. The conversation was quick with the driver telling him he’d actually arrived at Baker Street and if they didn’t hurry they would be late to the church. When John hung up, Sherlock entered the room again. 

 

“The door won’t open.” He announced to the room in general. “It’s locked and I can’t pick it.” 

 

“Well you should have a key, right?” John asked Sherlock. 

 

“You should know by now that I never carry keys with me.” Sherlock said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

 

“So you’re telling me we’re locked in here?” John questioned again, his voice rising slightly with the hysteria that was threatening to come on. 

 

“It would appear so.” Sherlock returned calmly. 

 

“Only you would manage to get locked  _ inside _ your  _ own _ flat, Sherly.” Ford flopped on the couch again. 

 

“It’s not like I did it on purpose or at all, and don’t call me Sherly.” Sherlock retorted crossly, picking up his brother’s top hat from on top of the seat of his armchair and sending it flying across the room. Ford caught the hat with both hands managing to not squash the thing.

 

“The question remains as to  _ how _ this happened.” Mycroft continued from the other side of the room looking out of the window and into the street below with both hands in his pockets, he’d ditched the umbrella earlier on when he was getting dressed. Thankfully the rain had stopped and there seemed to be no sign of it returning. 

 

“Whatever happened, it did so fairly recently, Mrs Hudson got out alright earlier.” Siger said as he too took a seat on the couch. 

 

“Mrs Hudson.” John said in realisation as he brought his phone out again. “She’ll have a key, or a spare one lying around somewhere.” He dialled his former landlady’s phone number and waited. 

 

“Mrs Hudson?” 

 

“ _ Oh, hello, dear. Have you arrived already? Greg and I stopped for a nice tea beforehand, we should be there in about 5 minutes or so, we’re just around the corner.” Mrs Hudson chattered on happily. John could hear the clinking of glasses and the distinct sound of a London tea room.  _

 

“No, we’re not at the church. We’re still at Baker Street.” John started to explain before she cut him off. 

 

_ “Oh, dear. What are you still doing there? I thought you’d left already, that’s why I locked up.”  _

 

“Oh so you’re the one that locked us in? Do you have a spare key somewhere in your flat?” John said in relief. He looked at Sherlock who shared a similar look to his. 

 

_ “No, I’m sorry dear. I haven’t got any keys. I set the new security system, I told Sherlock all about it.” She explained.  _

 

“Well, I doubt he remembers, can you tell me the code that unlocks it?” John asked hopefully. 

 

_ “Oh, Sherlock’ll know, it’s some funny number sequence he was going on about. Now John I have to go, but do hurry up and get out of there, it’s nearly time for the bride to get here.” _

 

“Right, bye.” John said in frustration, hanging up. He turned to Sherlock. “She says she set up the new security system and that you set up the code.” 

 

“What? I don’t remember doing that. What’s she going on about? What new security system?” Sherlock prattled off. 

 

“I don’t know, you’re the one that actually lives here!” John shouted now. “Dig into that bloody mind palace of yours and find it before we’re late. Scratch that we are late, and I’m calling Mary.” He ended as he took a deep breath, turning his back to him and going to the kitchen to dial Mary’s number. 

 

“I heard Mrs Hudson mention something about a new system yesterday, can’t be that hard to hack, do you want me to try?” Q told Sherlock, asking hopefully to be able to have some fun. 

 

“Yes go ahead and play your games.” Sherlock dismissed his little brother as he sat down in his armchair and went into his mind palace. 

 

Back in the kitchen Mary finally picked up. “Hi, Mary?” John started quietly. 

 

“You’ve been shouting. What’s wrong?” She asked immediately in a hushed tone, obviously not wanting to alarm Molly. 

 

“Umm, we seem… to have… a  _ little  _ bit of… a problem.” John answered hesitantly. 

 

“What kind of problem? And if it’s so little why are you calling me about it?” Mary insisted. He could hear a door closing and assumed she had left the room. 

 

“Well…” John hesitated, how on earth was he supposed to tell his wife that his best friend had magically gotten all of them locked inside his flat and they were going to be late. Possibly extremely late. 

 

“What has Sherlock done?” Mary growled over the line. 

 

“We’re locked in and can’t get out.” John rushed out, wincing at the thought of the verbal abuse he was about to get. 

 

“What?! Well, have you called a locksmith?” Mary asked furiously, he could tell she was panicking as much as he was and if he knew her she would be thinking up ways they could get out of this situation relatively unscathed. 

 

“It’s not the locks that’s the problem, it’s the security system and Sherlock can’t remember the unlock code, and apparently neither can Mrs Hudson.” 

 

“ _ Sherlock _ can’t remember the unlock code?” She parroted back to him. “ _ Sherlock, can’t remember? _ Sherlock the bloody encyclopedia of 243 types of tobacco ash,  _ Sherlock?” _ She asked again. 

 

“Yes him, the one who’s getting married today.” John said with a nervous laugh. “He probably deleted it or something, I don’t know.” 

 

“So what are you planning to do?” Mary asked hopefully. Please let him have a plan, she prayed. 

 

“He’s in his mind palace right now trying to remember.” John answered confidently, pretending like he had a handle on the situation. 

 

“You and I both know that could take hours, Molly’s supposed to be leaving in 20 minutes and you’re supposed to be there already.” She stomped. He actually could hear her stomping her feet in the heels she was wearing. 

 

“Yes, well, all true.” He gulped. “But Q is hacking the system even as we speak. Just - just delay Molly for say 15 minutes to try and give us a head start okay?” 

 

“Okay, I’ll stall, but if you’re not out in 10 minutes you call and explain to her what’s happened. I’ll get the reverend on the phone and tell him we’re experiencing delays.” Mary breathed. 

 

“I will call you back in ten minutes when we’re on our way to the church.” John reassured before he hung up. He turned back to Sherlock. “Please tell me you remember the numbers?” He begged. 

 

“No. It’s gone, completely no recollection of it, whatsoever.” Sherlock shrugged. 

 

“Please tell me this is another joke, like the one you pulled on that train with the bomb?” John pleaded. 

 

“No such luck, John. We have to find another way out.” Sherlock said as he stood up.

 

“Oi, what are you doing, playing Angry Birds or something?” Ford asked looking over at Mycroft who was indeed tapping away at his phone. 

 

“Angry what?” Mycroft said without a hint of amusement. What he actually was doing was sending his trusted assistant a text message. 

 

_ Delays expected, stall the bride. MH.  _

 

_ Absolutely not. Whatever you’re expecting, it better be all your asses in that church and not a minute later than 1.45. A.  _ Mycroft was shocked at her use of language. 

 

_ Unless you intend to be deeply disappointed and walk the bride down without a groom waiting, I suggest you do as I say. MH.  _

 

_ You do realise you can’t scare me right? I won’t help you. I won’t let you ruin Molly’s perfect day. I’ve worked far too hard to put this all together and it’s going to work seamlessly. A.  _ He knew Anthea was stubborn but this was taking the cake. He heard John Watson hanging up with his wife and he assumed that all would be taken care of by Mary, otherwise he would’ve sent Anthea a strongly worded text back.

 

—————

 

Anthea slipped her phone back into her clutch bag fuming. She couldn’t believe what Mycroft was asking her to do. She would not, under any circumstances ruin Molly’s day. Maybe she was deluding herself but at least the woman was one step closer to getting the happy ending she wanted with her Holmes than Anthea was. Then again, she started thinking, if there was a situation that would cause them to be late then it was her duty as a bridesmaid to make sure that everything would go as smoothly as possible without Molly noticing. She looked around for Mary, and found her, entering the room from the corridor outside. She could see that the blonde had received some form of bad news. 

 

“Mary, Catherine could I talk to you outside for a second?” Anthea asked as she crossed the room, grabbing Catherine by the elbow and dragging her with her to where Mary was still standing at the door. Mary led the way outside again, where they could now talk a little more freely. 

 

“What is it Anthea?” Catherine asked worried at her friend’s sudden movements. 

 

“Mycroft just sent me a text, he said that they’re expecting some sort of delays and we have to stall the bride.” She explained, looking Mary in the eyes, silently begging her to tell her that everything was alright. 

 

“I know, I’ve just spoken to John, they’re locked inside Baker Street but they’re doing all they can to get out. Apparently it’s some new security system Mrs Hudson installed.” Mary spewed, thankful that she could share the burden with someone. 

 

“Is Q locked in with them?” Catherine asked. 

 

“Yes, John said he’s trying to get them out.” Mary continued.

 

“Good. If Q’s there it won’t take him long to hack into the system’s mainframe and disable it, in the meantime I suggest we take Mycroft’s advice and stall.” Catherine said with the air of a mission leader about her. The two other maids just looked back at her with questioning looks. 

 

“What? Q is my brother, we’re Holmes, what do you expect?” Catherine asked incredulously. 

 

“All right.” Anthea said quickly. “How do you propose that we stall Molly then?”

 

“I’ve got an idea. What are three things we definitely can’t leave without?” Catherine asked. The other two could see the cogs working in her head. 

 

“Umm. The veil.” Anthea said off the top of her head. 

 

“Amanda’s basket, I suppose.” Mary added. 

 

“And maybe a bridesmaid’s bouquet?” Catherine offered. All three nodded at the examples. “Good, so we’ll each hide one of those things, hide them properly, so it takes all of us a little while to find it, by the time we’ve found all three, we’ll have delayed Molly by quite a bit. The most important thing is she can’t know that Sherlock has already cocked up her wedding day, before the actual ceremony.” They placed their hands in front of them, all three on top of each other in silent agreement before they walked back into the room. 

 

“Thank you, for getting that stain out for me, Mary. I had absolutely no idea what to do.” Anthea said a little loudly so Molly could hear her. 

 

“Catherine, do you want to fill up Amanda’s basket please?” Molly asked as she strapped on her bracelet. “May, can you show Michael where the boutonnieres are please and help the boys put theirs on?” The bride turned to her sister. 

 

“Okay, Molly, do you have everything?” Mary stepped up to her to check. “Something old?”

 

“One of my dad’s handkerchiefs, stuffed into the bouquet’s holder.” 

 

“Clever. Something new?” 

 

“A few charms on my bracelet.” Molly shook her wrist. 

 

“Something borrowed?” 

 

“The diamond earrings my dad gave my mum the morning of their wedding and she wore them to marry him.”

 

“Something blue?” 

 

“Well, a few things. My ladies of course, and some more charms, the flowers and…well… my garter.” 

 

“Right, and here is your silver sixpence, do you need me to slip it in for you?”

 

“Please.” Molly said nervously. 

 

“Don’t be nervous Molls, everything will be just fine. The rain’s stopped, and the driver is on his way, you’ve got everything done and ready and we’ll be leaving in a minute. The boys have also checked in to say that everything is fine on their end and absolutely nothing is going to go wrong.” Mary lied. 

 

“Okay, I need two more minutes before getting the finishing pieces on.” Molly sat down and took a few deep breaths. 

 

Five minutes later Molly was asking for her veil, as Anthea stuffed it behind the pillows on the bed while she wasn’t looking. It took them all of ten minutes to search the room but eventually Catherine found it and they helped Molly put it on. They were all ready to leave, except for Amanda who had misplaced her basket. Mary had gently pushed it under the bed after having searched there for the veil. It was May who thought to look under there and found it after a mere 4 minutes. 

 

“Right girls, that’s everything Get your bags and let’s go.” Molly announced happily with her hand grasping the doorknob. 

 

“Wait, wait.” Catherine shouted suddenly. “Who’s got my bouquet? I left it right there a second ago.” She asked, pointing to the bedside table. 

 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve lost it?” Molly sighed. Catherine hadn’t lost it per say but she had carefully stuffed it into the duffel bag she had used to get her things to the room. This time it took a total of 15 minutes of everyone searching everywhere before Mabel Holmes looked behind the screen they were using to change behind and found that it had migrated there. As Molly wasn’t looking both Mary and Anthea shot off a text to John and Mycroft respectively, informing them that the bride was ready to make her move. The answers that came back both said that they were still locked in. 

 

“Uh, Molls. You’re not going to like what I have to tell you.” Michael started as he too was pocketing his phone. 

 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve lost anything?” 

 

“No I haven’t lost a thing, but the driver does have a flat tyre and is going to need time to fix it.” 

 

“Oh that’s just brilliant.” She answered sarcastically as she slumped onto the stool in front of the vanity. 

  
  


—————

“Well, that’s it, we’re officially late. The bride has just left the hotel and we’re not at the church.” John declared as he ungracefully lapsed into the red armchair. He looked around the room and noticed that everyone was wearing the same expression, that of utter defeat. Except for Q who was still typing at his computer which had wires, leading down the staircase and hooked up to the security system, connected to it. 

 

“I think you’ll find we still have a small window of opportunity.” Mycroft said a minute later. “It seems the bride’s car has suffered a puncture and will need to get it fixed before arriving at its destination.” He announced to the room where all the men now seemed to have been given a jolt of energy. 

 

“What did you say, Mycroft?” Sherrinford asked slowly as he got up from the couch. 

 

“I said the girls’ car…” 

 

“No, before that, your exact words.” 

 

“I think you’ll find we still have a small window of opportunity.”

 

“Window! Exactly! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

 

“What are you on about Ford?” Sherlock asked. 

 

“Sherlock, I’ll be damned if you’re not waiting for your bride at the end of that aisle when she gets to the church.” He vowed, clasping his brother’s shoulders. “Hold my jacket. I’ll meet you downstairs.” With that Ford opened the window, climbed out onto the balcony and over its metal railings. He grabbed hold of the railings tightly and jumped down, so that he was now dangling from the balcony. 

 

“Well, it’s barbaric but it’s bound to work.” Sherlock nodded. 

 

“You’re not suggesting we climb out of the window?” John begged. 

 

“No, he’s going to climb down the front and he’s going to throw the door in.” Sherlock deduced. 

 

Q was working furiously away at his laptop, casting furtive glances at the open window. This had just turned into a race between him and his brother; who could open the door first?

 

It took a moment for Ford to prepare himself, and then he let go of the railing, falling the short distance below and landing in a heap on the sidewalk. He brushed off the dust from his trousers and looked up to the spectators in the window. 

 

“Make sure there isn’t anyone behind the door.” He warned. “Here goes, 1… 2…”

 

“I’ve got it.” Q said 

 

“3” Ford shouted simultaneously with Q’s declaration, which he obviously hadn’t hear as he went at the door with a run only to find it had clicked open and he flew into the stairs. 

 

Sherlock, Siger, Mycroft and John all looked at Q as if to accuse him he’d done it on purpose, which was, of course, preposterous. Q shrugged as he stood up in front of the men, closing his laptop. “I cracked the code. It was the Fibonacci sequence starting from 2, by the way.” 

 

Ford groaned on the stairs as everyone filed out of the flat and turned onto the staircase. John was the first one beside the older Holmes. 

 

“Can you stand?” 

 

“Yeah, doc, I’m all right.” 

 

“Good, no time for injuries now. I’ll buy you a drink later.” John promised as he handed Ford his jacket back after making sure that the papers he’d given him were stuffed inside the pockets. 

 

The men piled into the Daimler DS420 Limousine that had been rented out for the occasion, with Sherlock and John sitting at the very back, Q, Mycroft and Ford sitting in front of them and Siger opting to sit in the front passenger seat. With that they were off. The entire ride through John kept muttering about how they should have been the first to get there and how they were going to get there and find Molly’s car parked and waiting. 5 minutes after they had left he shot Mary a text, signalling her that they were on the way. 

 

Finally they arrived at the church, with two cars exactly like theirs pulling up half a minute behind them. The men looked to see the cars filled with the bridesmaids and Mrs Holmes in the first and Mrs Hooper and the two pageboys in the second. John rushed the ushers and groom inside as he stayed behind to greet the rather frazzled bridesmaids. 

 

“You’re lucky Molly’s car got a flat and she told us to leave ahead. I reckon we’ve got about 10 minutes before she shows up.” Mary told her husband as he helped her get out of the front passenger seat. 

 

“Daddy, look how pretty.” Hannah beamed, standing in front of her father, as she thrust her bouquet upwards closer to his face. 

 

“Yes very pretty, princess.” John bent to kiss the top of her head before helping Mabel Holmes out of the car.

 

“What have my boys been up to now?” She asked the best man with a stern smile. 

 

“Hello, Mrs Holmes. What a lovely hat you’ve got there.” John tried to distract her with the compliment. 

 

“Very well, is my husband inside?” She asked him. 

 

“Yes, and he’s very excited to see you.” John said. 

 

“Oh, well he won’t be after I get through with him, or any of them for that matter. I need to have a word with them before Molly gets here.” She answered back. 

 

“Right, I better follow her and make sure she doesn’t chew anyone’s head off, at least no one important anyway, are you girls okay here?” John asked. 

 

“We’re fine, John. Go and try to remember that you’re not the one getting married today, you can breathe.”

 

“I will when Sherlock starts taking this a bit more seriously.” John huffed as he hopped off to the large front doors of the church. Inside, he was pleased to see that all the ushers had started taking care of their duties immediately, even if a lot of the guests had already been seated. He saw Mabel and Siger talking at the back of the church, while Mycroft was off talking to the small orchestra Anthea had hired for the music. Ford was purposefully strolling around the groom’s side, handing off the readings as he spotted his cousins. Q was currently leading a young couple over to the bride’s side before heading back out to his post at the door. Sherlock was being his charming self as he chatted with the guests, particularly Mrs Hudson whom he was probably complaining about the damned security system to. John moved into the side chapel to speak with the officiant and find the path from their starting position to the altar. 

 

After a while, Sherlock came to join him in the chapel and they were left alone to await Molly’s arrival. The silence was a lovely treat for John after the chaos of the morning. Sherlock was sitting on the front pew with his legs stretched out in front of him and his head hanging back so that he was looking up at the decorated ceiling. John could tell that here was something buzzing about in his mind but he had never been good at guessing what the man was thinking about so he left it alone. 

 

“What’s it like?” He suddenly asked.

 

“What?” John returned, startled by the sudden conversation. He turned his head to look at him as Sherlock straightened his neck. 

 

“What’s marriage like, John?” He sat looking forward, returning his legs to their proper position, with his fingers laced in his lap. 

 

“Well, it’s…” John started before he trailed off to think about it. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done, certainly. Yeah, Mary and I had troubles, but I realise now that I fell in love with the person she wants to be. Marriage is… tough, I suppose is the best way to describe it. It’s about constant work and change and it gets even tougher when kids come along. But you’re a dad, you know that. I actually think you’d like it, marriage. It’s about having someone who’s always there, and about being there for them. You will need to learn to actually  _ listen  _ to Molly and actually  _ notice _ when she’s not there, but other than that I can definitely see you two having a happy life together. Even if you think it won’t last that long now.” 

 

“You never fail to romanticise things do you?” Sherlock laughed, diffusing a bit of the tension that he was now feeling. “What if she wants what I can’t give her?” 

 

“You’ll both want that. Things the other can’t give you. You’re both very stubborn, that’s for sure. But if that is the case, it will either be something that’s actually not worth fighting over and you’ll both let it go or it’ll be something that’s so big you’re forced to give in…” John trailed off. 

 

“Or break up.” Sherlock finished with a sigh. 

 

“Yeah. What I meant to say that those really big things are very rare.” John tried to convince Sherlock. He could see he was still unsure so he added on. “Look, when I found out Mary wasn’t who she said she is I had to choose between staying or leaving, and once I decided to stay the choice was to either read whatever was on that USB drive or not. It took a long while for me to decide but eventually I realised that reading it meant losing her, on some level, and I didn’t want to do that.” He finished, remembering their first Christmas together. Sherlock just nodded in response. He took in all the information he’d been given and filed it away. 

 

The heavy wooden door behind them was suddenly pushed open and Q popped his head around.

 

“John, Molly’s car is just coming around.” Q told the shorter of the two as he stood up. 

 

“Right, thanks. Get your brothers and parents and head back to the front.” Q nodded and left. “Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked his best friend as he gathered up his things. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve just been thinking about this for the last few days.” Sherlock answered as he too got up. “To battle.” He muttered more to himself than to John before he moved forward. John followed him and stood beside Sherlock as they waited outside the door of the chapel, with the priest, as they heard the hum of the congregation die down as if someone was slowly turning down the volume. All Sherlock could see was a sea of overly decorated hats, and he wondered why it made his heart beat so nervously.

 

On the other side of the chapel, he could see the musicians readying their instruments and the conductor looking to the back for Mycroft’s signal. Outside in the sun all the bridesmaids and ushers were being gathered up in a line by Q and Catherine. 

 

“Right.” Q started consulting his diagram. “Mum and Dad, you’re up first. No mum you need to be on the right.” 

 

“Well, don’t be absurd, Quentin, the lady is always to the  _ left _ of the gentleman.” Mabel declared without moving an inch. 

 

“Yes mum but the diagram says you have to be on the right because you get your seat before dad.” Q insisted. 

 

“Well, then the diagram is wrong.” Mabel announced. 

 

“No you are wrong. Now move.” Q said forcefully. Ford caught his eye and threw him a wink as Mabel relented and moved to Siger’s right instead. “Thank you. Mrs Hooper, you will be next, accompanied by your son George. No, Mrs Hooper, you stay on his left because you are sitting on the left.” 

 

“So I am the black sheep?” Mabel asked her son, as Margaret followed his instructions. 

 

“No, mum. The fathers sit at the very ends and the mothers sit next, so you walk on dad’s right, you go into the pew first and he follows you. Mrs Hooper walks on George’s left, she goes into the pew first and George you sit behind her.” Q explained showing his mother the diagram of everybody’s movements, giving his instructions to Molly’s brother last. 

 

“Well, who’s sitting next to mum?” George asked confused. 

 

“Michael, will sit next to her once he’s walked Molly up the aisle.” Q pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting the glasses perched there with his fingers. “Next Hannah and Lucas.” He said, looking around for the children, only to find that Catherine was already instructing Lucas on how to hold his elbow out to Hannah properly. “Good.” He encouraged when Lucas had almost gotten the hang of it. “The rest is pretty simple. Cat and I go next, then Anthea and Mycroft, May and Ford, ladies always on the left this time. Then we have the maid of honour walking down the middle. Amanda and David you’re next. Amanda you throw the flowers while David carries the rings.” He explained further as Catherine produced a white basket, with blue flowers around the edge and a blue butterfly perched on top, full to the brim with the same blue orchids in the bouquets and white rose petals, and a matching white cushion, with the blue flowers surrounding it at the stitching, from the car. Q signalled for her to bring the cushion over as he pulled out the rings and secured them to the cushion with the blue ribbons in a bow. As his sister handed little David and Amanda their accessories Q finished off his instructions.

 

“Okay so, at the altar, it’s the bride and immediately behind her are Mary, May, Anthea and Cat, in that order. Hannah will stand in front of Mary, and Amanda will stand behind her. John will be standing immediately behind Sherlock, then Ford, Mycroft and myself. Lucas will stand in front of John and David will be behind him. The music ends there and then we have the bride’s walk down the aisle after the flower girl and ring bearer. All understood?” Q asked as he looked up to see all heads nodding in agreement, except for Catherine who was explaining handing over the rings to David. 

 

“What about on our way back out, dear?” Mabel asked. 

 

“Well, that’s simple, it’s just the opposite. Bride and Groom, Amanda and David, Mary and John, Hannah and Lucas, May and Ford, Anthea and Mycroft followed by me and Cat. Then Mrs Hooper and Michael, and you and dad. Just the opposite of how we came in.” Q answered her as he walked around to stand in his place in line. When everyone was ready, Mycroft stepped out and gave his signals down the two side aisles to the conductor to start the processional music and to John to get Sherlock up to the altar. 

 

Sherlock heard the first notes of Bach’s  _ Air  _ being caressed out of the violins and closed his eyes as he breathed out and let the music flood his soul. 

 

“You picked it, didn’t you?” John whispered at Sherlock’s reaction. 

 

“Yes, one of my favourites. Music is pretty much the only thing Anthea let me take over and Molly agreed with all my choices.” 

 

“Good.” John smiled. He could see that Sherlock was nervous and if the music made him the tiniest bit more comfortable than that was a small price anyone could pay. Not that the piece wasn’t lovely. 

 

They walked slowly behind the priest as they made their way out of the side entrance to greet the procession. Sherlock could see his parents and smiled as his dad gave him a small wink and he saw his mother already dabbing at her eyes. Mrs Hooper behind her was in a similar emotional state, with her husband’s handkerchief already patting at her cheeks, as both sets of parents, and brother, took their seats. Next came his god-daughter and Molly’s nephew. Hannah smiled up at her dad and uncle as she gave a little swish of her skirt to show off. It brought a smile to both their face and Sherlock suddenly remembered his own daughter. Catherine and Q walked down next. Sherlock quickly scanned the bridesmaid’s dress. Short white dress, with Prussian Blue lace overlay and sateen train that wrapped around the waist to form a ruched band, so that the legs of the maids were bare below the knee. Catherine gave her older brother a large grin as she sensed his nervousness. Sherlock smiled back, if only to placate her. 

 

“She looks beautiful.” She mouthed to him as she took her place right opposite him. 

 

As Q took his place behind John he heard him mention something about the rings having been secured. Anthea and Mycroft were next and now, even he could see what everyone was talking about when they said Mycroft was in love with his P.A. and he briefly wondered if he looked at Molly with the same soft gaze that Mycroft was looking at Anthea. May and Ford looked the weirdest of the couples. Whose idea it was to pair the tallest usher and the shortest maid together he didn’t know but it was certainly ludicrous. Mary followed them as she too offered up a reassuring smile. Amanda and Molly’s other nephew were next. The biggest smile of all had to be his daughter’s as she misstepped when she saw her father. Her dress was similar to the others. The bodice was white with blue lace and had a similar ruched band across the waist. The full skirt was layered and split, so that the white underskirt with the same blue lace was similar to the train skirt the older maids had. The sparkling white embroidery along the edges of the layers matched his daughter’s sparkling blue eyes magnificently. She sprinkled some flowers in front of the altar and took her place as the last strings of the composition left his ears. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he dutifully turned to stare at the altar in anticipation of Molly’s approach.

 

He took another deep breath as he heard Pachelbel’s  _ Canon in D _ start and heard the heavy doors opening and closing a few moments later as Molly and her brother Michael stepped through. In his mind, he was picturing Molly walking down the aisle in her lab coat and ponytail. The image suddenly changed to her with her hair down and wearing the pink dress she had been wearing at the club a month or so before. He could hear some mutterings between the bridesmaids but dared not look in case he got a glance of Molly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary whisper something to the priest as the music swelled slightly. He focused on the images in his mind where Molly’s vision had now changed to match the bridesmaids’. She was wearing the same dress and holding the same bouquet. He knew it was ridiculous and that she’d be wearing white, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would have picked. The priest cleared his throat, disturbing his train of thought. That was when Sherlock realised that his hands were shaking as he clasped them in front of him. 

 

“Sherlock, you can look at her, you know.” The priest said quietly to him. He nodded before he took another breath and turned at what was, in his opinion the best part of the song. 

 

He felt the air rushing out of him as he saw her. She was a vision in white lace which radiated and glimmered. The lace straps on her shoulders came down along her front, framing her petite decolletage. The dress made her look exquisite. A small ribbon cinched in the dress below her breasts. A bejewelled decoration sat delicately on the ribbon. The rest of the dress flared out from there, coming down into a full skirt overlaid with the most brilliant of white lace which seemed to glitter when hit by the light at the right angle. By all accounts a full skirt should have made her look smaller, and yet he could see her hips and legs as they moved her closer to him. The train behind her was long and he briefly wondered how such a small woman could carry so much dress on her. He saved her face for last as the music stopped almost completely save for a small harpsichord. Her delicate features had been decorated very well, from what he could see beneath the veil. Her hair was down, and in curls, but that was all he noticed as her face beamed at him. He saw her swallow a little as she breathed out and he smiled at the thought of her being as nervous as he felt. This was what John was talking about, he thought briefly, being there for each other. He stood a little taller as he found a little more comfort in the idea. She was so close now, all he had to do was reach out and step forward, but he held his position as the final notes of the music died down and her brother kissed her forehead as he removed the veil from in front of her face. That’s much better, Sherlock thought as she turned to look at him before her brother handed her off to Sherlock’s waiting hand. 

 

“Take care of her.” Michael muttered to him as he patted him on the back before taking his place beside his mother. 

 

Sherlock didn’t pay much attention to the ceremony, as he was busy trying to take in all the details about Molly’s appearance. John noticed and was dutifully pinching his arm discreetly every time the priest would cue him. It had been just over 7 short years before that Sherlock had been doing the same thing for him after all. 

 

“Sherlock, will you take Molly to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?” The priest asked. 

 

“I will.” Sherlock vowed. 

 

“And Molly, will you take Sherlock to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?” The priest repeated to the bride. 

 

“I will.” She choked out through ragged breath, clearing her throat and blushing at the sound of her hoarse voice. 

 

Molly spent the entire time after that forcing herself to not cry. It didn’t help that Sherlock spent the whole ceremony looking at her, she knew he wasn’t paying attention so she was impressed he actually managed to say the right words at the right time, until she saw John’s hand retreating back and tried to bite back a smile until the priest called her name and startled her. She blushed even more after that when she saw Sherlock biting his lip to stop the laughter. Why was she so nervous, after all, nothing was going to change between them. 

 

“Sherlock and Molly, I now invite you to join hands and make your vows, in the presence of God and his people.” The priest instructed. 

 

Sherlock dutifully held his hand out to Molly, he felt like he needed to feel hers more than she seemed to need his. 

 

“I, Sherlock, take you, Molly, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward.” He started, swirling his tongue around his mouth to try and keep it from going dry again. “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.” He finished with a small squeeze to her hand. Molly couldn’t handle the emotion anymore and felt two tears rolling down her cheeks and for the second time that day she thanked her lucky stars that her bridesmaids had asked for the waterproof mascara to be used. 

 

They switched hands so that she was now holding his right in his as she repeated after the priest the same promise he’d just made. “I, Molly, take you, Sherlock, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.” She sniffled quietly. 

 

It was after the exchange of the rings that Molly truly lost it. As she remembered Sherlock’s words in his letter to her while he recited his final promise. “Molly _ , _  I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” He looked her straight in the eyes as he said these words and that just sent her over the edge, prompting Mary to hand over her father’s handkerchief from under the flowers, before the bride continued, to make the same promise, looking Sherlock back in his eyes and trying to achieve the same result, which, obviously, she didn’t.

 

The rest of the ceremony passed by quickly with the couple smilingly glancing at each other throughout. At the end of the ceremony they were led to the sacristy behind the altar to sign the marriage certificate, joined by John and Mary who were signing on as their witnesses. As soon as the deed was done, Sherlock wrapped his hand around Molly’s waist and pulled her close for a kiss, not caring for one second that both Watsons and the priest were present in the room. All of them left the sacristy after that, Sherlock holding Molly’s hand in his right now, with John and Mary following in similar suit just behind them. As they came into view of the ushers, Mycroft gave the signal to the conductor to start the exit piece, which had been, again, chosen by Sherlock: Handel’s  _ Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.  _

 

The fanfare style piece accompanied them as they crossed the altar and descended down the two steps, taking two steps forward, Sherlock caught Amanda’s gaze and motioned for her to follow him with a smile. Amanda and David followed the newlyweds before the Watsons who were then followed by their daughter and her escort down the aisle. The attendants glided along behind them in pairs as they had entered, finally followed by Mrs Hooper and Michael, and Mabel and Siger Holmes. As the front doors opened, Sherlock and Molly were met with flashing lights from in front of them and flying paper flowers from behind. They posed for various photos after that and even ventured back inside the church to take a couple in there. 

 

Eventually, the final photo before they left was inside the same Vintage Beauford Convertible car that Molly had arrived in earlier. The driver hopped in and they were off with everyone waving behind. 

 

“And now for the fun part.” Molly declared breathing out a sigh of relief. “You know for a second there I was really worried. My stylist got my hair  _ horribly  _ wrong this morning,  _ twice. _ ” She said as she held up her index and middle finger out to form a ‘v’ for emphasis. “That, of course, was after the flowers got mixed up and delivered to the wrong addresses. Oh, but I absolutely loved your letter, Sherlock.” She added in a soft tone as she turned to him and placed her hand on his arm. “I cried at the end, it was  _ so _ lovely.” 

 

“Did you?” He mused as he lifted the arm she had touched over her head and wrapped it around her shoulders, consequently pulling her tighter into his side. “Well, I’m glad you did, because frankly I wrote that this morning and had no idea if you would. Also your hair looks beautiful and the flowers got to everyone in time. So there’s nothing to worry about.” 

 

“Yeah, but then my veil got lost, and Amanda’s basket and Cat’s bouquet, and the car got a flat and I was half-an-hour late, Sherlock!” She went on. 

 

“We only waited for you for 10 minutes.” He admitted. “Mrs Hudson locked us is in the flat. Then Ford jumped out of the window to try and kick the door open but Q hacked the system and got to it before he did. We got here at the same time as Mummy.” He said sheepishly. 

 

“Is that what those girls were doing outside?” She muttered to herself. “Well, I have to give them credit, they did keep me calm. I would have lost it if they’d told me you guys were locked in.” She finished as she rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead and they rode in silence like that for the rest of the way, both closing their eyes and reclining back with their faces lifted up towards the brilliantly sunny sky. They hadn’t noticed that the driver had taken a longer way to get to the venue while everyone had taken the more direct route. When they arrived back at the hotel they found the four children with Catherine at the lobby fountain. Amanda rushed forward to both her parents when she spotted them. 

 

“Daddy. Did you see me? Was I pretty?” She asked gleefully as he picked her up mid-run. 

 

“I did, you were delightful, panda.” He smiled at her little face. 

 

“Molly? Are you my mummy now?” She asked the bride as her father hugged her closer. 

 

“I suppose I am, but it doesn’t mean I love you any more. I don’t think that’s possible, I love you so much already, sweetheart.” Molly gushed as she pinched the little girl’s nose softly. 

 

“I love you, too, mummy.” Amanda sang holding out her arms to Molly for her to hold her. Instead Sherlock pulled Molly close so that he was holding them both. Molly kissed Amanda’s cheek from within the embrace. They walked into the venue with Catherine and the others going in ahead of them. 

 

“Alright, ladies and gents. I have been reliably informed that the newlyweds are here, so please will you put your hands together for Mr and  _ Mrs, _ ” They heard Ford start as they held back for the announcement. 

 

“And Amanda!” Catherine and Q shouted from the front. 

 

“And Amanda.” Ford assured. “Holmes.” 

 

They entered to the raucous applause hand in hand as Amanda skipped along in front of them, holding bunches of her skirt in both her hands. Molly and Sherlock were both pulled into hugs and kisses on the cheek by their new in laws and families, with Mycroft being the exception of course. When he did finally come over to offer up his congratulations to his brother, Sherlock was too busy monitoring his younger siblings’ alcohol intake. 

 

“Mycroft, if you’re not going to be enjoying yourself, than at least keep an eye on Cat and Q. That’s already her third glass and it’s Q’s second but he can’t hold as much liquor as she can. Go on be the busy little bee that you always are.” Sherlock waved his brother off when he sensed his hesitation.

 

Catherine had just downed her third glass of wine as she looked up to search for her youngest brother who had abandoned her at the bar a few moments before. She saw him at the main entrance pulling at something she couldn’t see. She ran over to him to see him leading a man by the hand. She took a few steps closer before she realised they were holding hands with their fingers laced. 

 

“Q, who is this?” She asked slowly as her brother stopped in front of her. His face turned beetroot red when she posed the question. 

 

“Cat.” He cleared his throat. “This is my boyfriend James.” He introduced the tall, handsomely rugged man in the tuxedo standing in front of her. “James, this is my baby sister Cat.” 

 

“Enchanted. Though I wouldn’t exactly call you a baby.” James kissed the top of her knuckles after taking the hand she had presented. He threw Q a glance as he made the baby remark and he only rolled his eyes. Catherine giggled at the compliment. 

 

“Q, why didn’t you ever tell me, darling dear brother of mine, that you were gay?” She said with a sing song voice. 

 

“Because it’s not important.” He shrugged. 

 

“I think whether or not my brother sleeps with men or women is a little bit important.” She countered, feigning shock. 

 

“Why?” Q squinted his eyes in suspicion. 

 

“Oh, well… I-I-I suppose…” She stuttered. 

 

“You have a bet with one of them don’t you?” He asked incredulously. “Unbelievable.” He continued when he nodded. “Which one of them is it?” He asked her with genuine curiosity. 

 

“All of them.” She admitted. 

 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.” He huffed angrily. 

 

“Disappoint? If you’d told me, I would have won much sooner!” 

 

“Wait, you knew? How did you know?” 

 

“It was a hunch.” She shrugged, before turning back to the boyfriend. “Now back to you Mr mysterious tall dark and handsome boyfriend charmer James. Q here may be my older brother but don’t for one second think that I won’t come after you if you hurt him. Also, I may look like a box of fluffy white kittens, and in an hour or two I will look like a  _ wet _ box of kittens, but I am capable of killing you.” She said rather seriously. 

 

“Catherine, I think you should be aware that I know how to kill someone armed with just a spoon and an icepick.” James said in a low voice as he picked up a champagne flute from a roving tray nearby. 

 

“Ah, but you see I know how to kill a man with a  _ tooth _ pick and my little finger.” She countered holding her pinky out. “Oh, and would you look at that, it’s got a lovely sharp nail at the end too.” She smiled threateningly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go collect my money before they got too drunk.” She turned to leave. 

 

“Cat.” Q called after her and continued when she turned. “Just how much did you bet that I was gay?” 

 

“Sherlock said you were gay and was willing to bet 50, Mycroft said you weren’t and matched his bet. I agreed with Sherlock and doubled it, Ford doubled Mycroft.” 

 

“You bet a hundred pounds on my sexuality?”

 

“You’d do the same thing.” She said before finally walking off to stand next to her three other brothers and mother who were all talking in a circle. 

 

“Myc, Ford, time to pay up. Q is most definitely gay!” She announced as she approached. 

 

“Dammit. That’s the second one today.” Ford said as he reached into his jacket and pulled out £100. 

 

“Who was the first?” Sherlock asked as Mycroft handed him his £50.

 

“Myc, bet that Sherlock was straight, I bet he wasn’t.” Ford explained as he downed his scotch. 

 

“So you bet Sherlock was gay, but not Q?” Catherine questioned Ford’s intelligence. 

 

“Sherlock’s such a swishy git, Q is… well honestly I thought he might be asexual.” 

 

“I’m not swishy!” Sherlock asked offended as Molly tittered at his side, having joined the conversation only a moment before. 

 

“And how do you know he is gay?” Ford continued. 

 

“Well he’s just told me.” 

 

“Who’s that dashing young man speaking to Quentin?” Mabel asked after having decided to not pay any attention to the previous conversation. 

 

“Well, mummy, that’s Q’s boyfriend, I suspect he’ll be introducing you two fairly soon.” Catherine chimed before she left to join May in the few bridesmaids duties that remained. 

 

The group dissolved at that with everyone going off in separate directions. Molly was still giggling at Ford’s description of her new husband. 

 

“What?” Sherlock asked rather annoyed. 

 

“Well, darling, you are rather ‘swishy’, it’s what attracted me to you in the first place.” She giggled as she took another glass of sparkling wine from a nearby waiter. 

 

“You ought to be careful with that.” Sherlock warned. 

 

“I can handle my alcohol intake, thank you very much, but it’s my wedding and I plan on getting ever so brilliantly lashed.” She tittered as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a large swallow of the pink liquid. She wrapped her arm around Sherlock’s and pulled him towards the far end of the room where they would be setting up the receiving line. 

 

“Your sister’s definitely unlike you described.” James nodded towards Q as he got them both drinks at the bar. 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Q asked curiously.

 

“You made her sound like your sweet baby sister. For a while there I thought I might be meeting an actual child. Catherine on the other hand is a firecracker.”

 

“Wait till you meet mummy, then she’ll look like marshmallow rainbows.” Q grinned evilly up at James. 

  
  



	8. That Voodoo That You Do So Well

Molly tried to run the key-card through the slot in the door again, but missed. She started laughing. This was ridiculous, she’d had far too much to drink and now she couldn’t even unlock the door to their hotel room. 

 

“Isn’t it one of those silly tradition things that I carry you over the threshold?” Sherlock said as he leaned onto the wall next to her. 

 

Molly gulped. “It most certainly is.” She blinked trying her best to sound blase.

 

Sherlock bent down and, with his arm, pushed against the back of her knees, making her fall back into his waiting arms. She placed the key card in his hands which were peeking out from under her dress. Without missing a beat he unlocked the door and pushed it into the room with his leg. He carried her into the room, both of them laughing all the while. He kicked the door closed and walked over to the bed where he swiftly dropped her and sat down next to her. Undoing the neck tie he flopped back on the bed. 

 

“Thank god that’s finally over.” He breathed. Molly got up and headed over to the vanity where she started taking off her gloves. 

 

“You know, this is ridiculous.” She laughed. “Doing all the traditions including the honeymoon suite.” She gestured around the room. Sherlock only just noticed that there were red rose petals all around the room and champagne sitting in an ice-bucket. “And you carrying me over the threshold like that, when we’re not technically married.” She laughed. 

 

“Technically we are married.” Sherlock corrected, his mind wandering back to the church that morning. 

 

“You know what I mean.” She insisted with a sly smile. “We didn’t get married because we wanted to or because we love each other. We’re doing it for an undercover mission.” Sherlock was waiting for the sadness that he assumed would come but never did. Molly turned around and looked into the full length mirror. She sighed as she ran her hands over her silken skirt with the lace detailing. 

 

“You know, you really do look beautiful.” Sherlock admitted, repeating his words from a few hours before. He stepped behind her and closed his hands around her elbows so that they were now both looking at the reflection of the couple that seemed so unknown to them. 

 

“Thank you.” She smiled again. “This is going to sound silly, but I feel like a princess and I don’t ever want to take it off.” 

 

“You look like one.” Sherlock whispered. “You look so much better than all those silly girls in the photos at the shops and in the magazines. They all seem wrong somehow, you seem…right.” He said, for lack of a better word, as he brushed a few loose strands around Molly’s neck. She laughed as his fingertips tickled her. 

 

“Well, thank you, my sweet prince.” She blushed looking at his reflection looking at her. He was suddenly overcome with a strong sensation to kiss her neck where he had touched her only moments ago. Never taking his eyes off her face in the mirror, he bent his head and brushed his lips, ever so gently, on the spot where the shoulder and her neck met. From her reactions he could gauge that she was aroused. 

 

“No.” She said. “We can’t do this, Sherlock.” She whispered, arousal now turning into fear. Her eyes brimmed with tears and her lips trembled. 

 

“Molly, what did I do wrong?” He asked shocked at her reaction.

 

“We can’t do this.” She said again. “We’re not like that, it would ruin everything. You don’t love me.” She explained. 

 

“How do you know?” Sherlock asked. He was curious because right now even he wasn’t sure if what he was feeling for this woman was love or not.

 

“What do you need?” She questioned, echoing the past so long ago. They had been so different back then and they had changed so much.

 

“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered but his actions said  _ “You” _ as he stepped forward and gently placed his hands at her waist, bending down to kiss her on the lips as he had done so many times that day. But somehow this was different. There were no cameras, or spectators to play to. They were alone. He could walk away and be done with the pretending for one night but as he tried to pull back, agreeing with her in his mind, he found that he couldn’t get his body to obey him. His lips touched hers and when they did it was as if he was back in that club more than a month ago. Molly’s lips trembled beneath his as she opened her mouth for him. They staggered and sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

Sherlock’s hand travelled around her waist to the small of her back. Now he found himself not thinking about how soft the material of the dress was but his mind was urging him to undress her. His hands trailed upwards and when he found the zipper he pulled it down halfway before Molly stood up and took a step back away from him. Fear filling her again. She knew just how badly this man could hurt her if he wanted to and if she let him. 

 

“Molly.” He reassured with one word. He reached out for her and the expression that Molly now saw on his face wasn’t one that made her fear for herself but for him. What if she found she didn’t love him the way she thought she would? What if she was capable of breaking his heart? She nodded to him and reached behind her pulling the zipper down the rest of the way. She pulled at the straps on her arms and let the expensive gown fall to the floor, carefully stepping out of it. She turned around and went to the vanity again. 

 

“Molly.” He begged this time.

 

“I’m coming, love.” She said hurriedly. She all but ripped the pins, veil and decorations out of her hair. She turned back to face him. 

 

Sherlock had never seen anything more beautiful than the woman standing before him. The gorgeous bride that was standing there a moment ago, perfectly composed and blushing at the thought of him kissing her had now turned into a wild beauty. He had seen women naked before, far too many to count, if he was being honest, but not one had ever made him feel as vulnerable as this one did now. Molly stood in her white heels. Her legs were just as white stockings climbing all the way up, just past her knees, halfway up her thigh where her garter had been before he’d removed it. He cursed himself now for not paying attention before. 

 

Where the fabric met her skin, beautiful lace twirled around her thigh. He had never been so jealous of an inanimate object before. A matching lace suspender belt connected to the stockings over a small triangle of fabric that barely left anything to the imagination, and yet it perfectly covered her. More lace covered her body from the belt all the way up to her breasts which were cupped just enough to offer her support and cleavage but allow the slightest view of her nipples. What made it even more perfect was the hair that was now wildly cascading down her shoulders and decolletage, the very tips of it meeting with the top of the brasselette and creating a stark contrast. Yes this wild creature standing before him now was far more beautiful than he had ever seen and not because of what she wore or her make-up but because of the hungry look she had in her eyes as she stepped closer to him.

 

Molly practically threw herself at Sherlock. She sat in his lap facing him, her legs wrapped around him and her lips covering his again but with more fervour than before. His hands trailed up her waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs tweaking the nipples that were peeking out. Her hands held him close at his neck, shoulders, chest. As her fingers trailed down, she was only barely aware of the buttons she could still feel on his body. Without leaving his lips, she made quick work of the jacket first, then the waistcoat, swiftly followed by the shirt. She threw them in the first direction her brain registered: away! Now she could feel the planes of his torso unhindered. His lips trailed down her neck and shoulders. 

 

“Beautiful. Gorgeous.” He muttered on her skin in between kisses. “Perfect.” He said looking up at her. 

 

“Breasts and lips not too small then?” She teased. 

 

“No! No, never.” He said quickly, desperately. “Sorry.” He breathed on the point where her clavicle and sternum met. He could feel her pulse quickening under his lips and she could feel his voice vibrate along the column of her neck, which made her moan involuntarily. The vulnerability, passion and arousal in her voice travelled down Sherlock’s spine and between his legs. Molly pressed into him. He could tell he was forgiven for his stupidity long ago. 

 

He trailed down her chest again to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking it in and caressing it with his tongue, circling around it. He released it and repeated on the other one. Molly completely lost in the idea that this man was hers. When he released her nipple again she took the opportunity and pushed him back onto the bed and slipped off him. She made lightning work of his belt and trousers, as he toed off his shoes. She bent down and pulled the socks from his feet. 

 

“Champagne?” She asked. 

 

“Definitely, but I’m not bothering with the glasses.” He warned. He got up and expertly opened the bottle, as she slipped back onto the bed sitting in the middle, biting the edge of her bottom lip, waiting. “Have I ever told you, how hard it makes me whenever you bite your lip?” He asked as he stepped back to the bed.

 

She didn’t answer but instead she sucked in more of it, until half of her lip was in her mouth and the other half was turned up in a smile. 

 

“Oh, Molly. Molly.” He knelt in front of her nuzzling her neck. She didn’t notice that he was inching the freezing bottle closer to her, until finally the bottom edge pressed up against her nipple every so slightly, making her let go of another moan, this one so unexpected it made her close her eyes. “My sweet Molly.” He whispered again. “I bet I could make you come undone with just my lips on your neck and my hands on your breasts.” He joked, sucking a dark mark on her collarbone touching the bottle to her breasts again. 

 

“Oh, god, Sherlock.” She said. Molly took the bottle with both hands, trapped its neck between both of her lips and upturned it so that the sweet golden liquid rushed down her throat. She lowered it as she felt the bubbles climb up her nose and handed it back to her husband who copied with a smile. Sherlock sat next to her, moving the pillows and placing the bottle back in the bucket which he’d brought closer to the bed. He removed his pants so that he was now completely naked. 

 

Molly held in a gasp (that was so cliche, she thought) as he uncovered himself. She had dreamt about him. Rather a lot if she was being honest, but she had never imagined this! For a brief second she worried if he might actually hurt her. Sherlock smiled wickedly and held his hand out for her to come closer. She got up on her knees and shuffled forward. 

 

He closed the distance, pulling her closer from her thighs, undoing the two suspender straps at her front and reaching behind her to undo the straps at the back. “Let’s get these silly things off first. They’re in the way.” He peeked between his lashes as he bent down and bit the little fabric that was on her hip. He pulled down with his teeth relieving her of her panties. He pushed her back down onto the bed and lifted her legs to unhook the troublesome garment from them. When the white lace had finally been thrown to the floor he turned back to her, still holding her knees. 

 

“Now, what shall we start with?” he purred. His right hand glided along the back of her left thigh, eventually cupping her arse. Molly let out a yelp when he squeezed her there. “Hmm, interesting. Reaction: shocked but pleasantly so.” His fingers released her cheek and wound their way to her sex, just floating above it, calculating his next move carefully. Molly was glad that he was taking his time and gauging her reactions. Everything that everyone knew about him would have made her think he would be a selfish lover, but she had never considered that he would approach it just like any other experiment. 

 

“I wonder, what would happen if I did… this?” He asked mockingly as he dipped two of his fingers inside her and she let out a moan which seemed to originate somewhere dark and deep within her. He crooked his fingers and thrust once, twice. 

 

“Oh, god! Sherlock!P-please.” She groaned. He’d found her g-spot and it felt so good. 

 

“Do you like that, Molly?” He asked rhetorically as he pumped into her. 

 

“More, please!” She begged. 

 

“How about this, then?” He flicked his thumb over her clit, and when she squirmed in delight as he pressed down on it and started rubbing her. 

 

“Sher-lock!” She keened. Moaning and whining in pleasure all the while. Sherlock could feel her approaching her climax. Her cries were getting louder and louder and he briefly wondered about how soundproof the walls were. Seeing Molly spread out in front of him as she was, reaching back to grasp at the sheets, her hair splayed all over the bed made him grow harder and he was becoming more and more desperate. He thrust his fingers a few more times until she finally came undone. Her back arched off the mattress as her muscles tensed and she let out a long and high pitched cry, dipping her head into the sheets. She lay there panting as he cleaned his hand. 

 

“Oh. Sherlock where did you learn that?” She asked as she crawled back to him trying to think if there was any way possible to make this up to him. 

 

He smiled through the bottle at his lips. “You.” He answered honestly. “I just watched you and what you liked.” Molly was speechless. Finally he’s using his powers to make someone feel good instead of bad, she thought ironically. 

 

She bent forward and took off her shoes, then stockings, followed by her belt that was still uselessly at her waist. She turned her back to him. “Help me take this off, please?” She asked. 

 

“Certainly.” His fingers made very swift work of the corset-like garment, undoing the crisscrossing laces at her back. She let out a pleased breath and he ran a calloused hand along the skin he could now see had tiny pink marks here and there from the pressure of wearing it all day. 

 

“You can do that later if you want, but right now it’s my turn.” She said when she realised she was dangerously close to falling into bliss if he kept massaging her. She turned around and straddled his thighs, not wanting to give him any pressure yet. “Now, what am I going to do to you?” She asked herself, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes. 

 

“You could start with a kiss.” Sherlock suggested. 

 

“Fine. I’ll give you a kiss but you have to let me guess the rest like you did.” She obliged. “Lie down.” She commanded when they had separated. He obeyed with a smirk, propping his head up on a pillow and both his hands. “Close your eyes. And wipe that silly grin off your face before I have to punish you.” She kissed. Molly hopped off the bed looking for something. She turned around and saw a twinkle between his lashes. 

 

“Right! I warned you.” She stomped with mock anger towards the bed. Taking her recently discarded stockings and straddling his stomach. Sherlock had never noticed how lithe on her feet the little pathologist was. She pulled both his arms from under his head and pinned them above to the headboard. Stringing the tights around the metal frame and his wrists she was giggling with an almost wicked delight. When she was done she slipped a finger between his wrists and material to check the tension. Satisfied, she dismounted him and returned to her search. Sherlock dared not open his eyes again in case she decided to punish him further, though at the thought of her idea of punishment he found that he was so hard he was actually twitching with anticipation. 

 

“What’s going on in that funny little head of yours?” She teased, obviously having noticed his bodily reactions. 

 

“Just thinking about what you’re going to do to me.” Sherlock admitted with a wide grin. 

 

“Hmm. It seems I might need to punish you more tonight. Certainly if you keep disobeying me.” She warned. She trailed a finger on his lips. “No talking. Except to say my name, I like that, or to tell me if I’m hurting you or doing anything you don’t like. Sounds are also accepted. Now lift your head.” She ordered again. He obliged once more, biting his tongue against a response that had already poised itself on his lips. He felt the wisp of soft fabric on his forehead and nose, across his eyes and around his head. 

 

“If I’d known what we’d be up to I would’ve brought the proper equipment.” Molly said as she tied the fabric at the back and pulled the knot to the side so he could rest his head again. “Are you really that hard for little old me?” she teased as her fingers ghosted across his abdomen, just a few millimetres from where his cock rested. 

 

“Molly.” He said, affirming her question and begging her at the same time. 

 

“Spread your legs for me, Sherlock.” She smiled at the fact that she had gotten this man of all men to obey her so unquestioningly. She would never let him boss her around in the morgue again that was for sure. She knelt between his legs and started kissing him and touching him everywhere around his hardening cock but never more than a few hairs brushing against it. She kept this on for a few more seconds before she finally grasped him with one hand and gave a few  talented twists and pulls. His low mutterings were enough to tell her that she was on the right track. When neither one of them couldn’t stand it any longer she took him into her mouth completely. 

 

“Molly.” He moaned. He was biting his tongue so hard to stop the words from coming out that he could taste blood. But that pain only mixed in with the pleasure that was starting to overwhelm him. 

 

It wasn’t much longer after that, that she felt his thighs tensing. 

 

“Oh god! Molly, I’m going to…” he trailed off. She grinned around him. 

 

“I know.” She whispered against his skin. “Come for me, Sherlock.” She said. 

 

When she engulfed him again he couldn’t help but thrust into her mouth. Eventually he emptied himself in her mouth. He heard her get up and move around the room and then he felt a tissue being rubbed on his abdomen. 

 

She straddled his mid-riff again and undid the stockings holding his hands. Now that he could, he moved, bringing his hands down and wrapping his arms around her as he scooted up to a sitting position, growing harder again quickly. He still couldn’t see but he could taste himself on her lips. He stroked her wetness with his hardening cock, begging for entrance. He brought one hand around and quickly undid the knot at the side of his head, revealing the soft material to be one of Molly’s white gloves.

 

“Sherlock.” She moaned into his mouth as he kept rubbing himself against her. 

 

“Shh. Molly, it’s my turn now. Time for you to be as quiet as a mouse.” He kissed her neck, groping her breast with one hand. 

 

“I won’t be able to be if you keep teasing me like that.” She said, pressing down on his member. Sherlock chuckled at her reaction, trailing the tips of his fingers up and down along her spine. It tickled Molly and she laughed into the kiss, slipping herself off his thighs to sit next to him. Sherlock took the opportunity and swung his leg over, so that he was on all fours on top of her, her thighs trapped between his knees and her head similarly between his hands. She laced her arms around his neck and fingers into his hair, remembering that tugging on it made him moan. They continued to make-out, his hands caressing every part of her body, cataloguing every detail in his mind. He aligned himself with her opening and when she nodded he guided his cock into her. She closed her eyes, her hips bucking in response and her lips forming a silent ‘o’. 

 

He sheathed himself completely within her, pausing to let her get used to the feeling and to adjust himself on his elbows. She lifted her hips off the bed, angling them so that he could go deeper inside her. He thrust out and back in again slowly, assessing her expressions all the while. Sherlock building up was taking far too long for Molly’s liking and she wrapped her legs around his waist, effectively bringing him much closer to her. He took that as a sign of her impatience and picked up the pace. Her lips latched onto the side of his neck, sucking a dark mark there to match the one he’d just given her. He nibbled at her earlobe as he continued to plunge in and out of her. This made Molly bite her bottom lip which, in turn made him bite it too. They locked eyes again as he continued to suck on her lip. His thumbs continued tweaking her nipples as before as she grew closer to her climax. Sherlock slid his tongue into her mouth once more. 

 

“Yes, Sherlock, ugh, right there.” Molly keened as Sherlock found her g-spot. One of her hands trailed down along his back to cup his arse, the other holding on to his shoulder. Sherlock groaned at her touch on his body and the feel of her surrounding him. He released her breast and his hand travelled down between their bodies, successfully finding her clit and pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. Molly moaned, a drawn out wail. She didn’t know how much longer she could take, as she dug her nails into his shoulder. “Yes! God, yes!” she shouted again as he rubbed her bud. His responsive grunts were the only sound he made as his thrusts picked up speed, making sure to hit the spot repeatedly. 

 

He nearly lost himself when he felt her muscles clenching around his prick as she came undone under his ministrations, riding out the waves of pleasure coming over her, screaming his name and making a trail of scratches down his back and she held onto him. The stinging sensation trailing down his back and making him even more desperate for release. As it was, it took just a few more bucks of his hips for him to finish inside her. They both lay panting there for a while, Sherlock having pulled out of Molly but still lying on top of her, careful not to crush her body under his. 

 

“I never thought I’d like the idea of being Mrs Holmes so much.” Molly finally managed to breathe out with a laugh. 

 

Sherlock rolled off her and joined in her laughter. “You and I, both,  _ Mrs Holmes _ .” He continued with her joke, sitting up to gather the pillows from where he’d dumped them onto the floor before. Molly noticed the plump pink lines on his back that were a direct result of her hands. 

 

“Ooh, does that sting?” She asked placing a gentle hand on one set of four lines that run from just below his shoulders down to his mid back. There was a matching set of four on the other side. 

 

“Not at all. And if it did, it was worth it.” Sherlock answered honestly, throwing Molly a breathtaking smile. She could tell he felt as blissfully happy as she did right now. He finished picking the pillows up and turned back to her, pulling Molly close and wrapping her in the sheets with him. It didn’t take long for both of them to fall asleep. Although if it had been for Sherlock it would have taken much, much longer. 

 


	9. I Never Really Cared Until I Met You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a line from the song 'Alone'. I picked it because I think it fits so well with this chapter.

The next morning the couple awoke happily in each other’s arms. Sherlock had trained himself to become alert almost immediately upon waking up, he dreaded lulling about in bed. Molly, however, loved it and so he offered to go take a shower while she lingered a little longer. She agreed happily because that just meant she would have more room to stretch about in, although she did say she would ring for breakfast. 

When Sherlock came out of the en-suite bathroom, one towel wrapped around his hips and another being used to violently shake the water out of his curls, with clouds of steam following him into the bedroom, he found Molly in one of the fluffy white dressing gowns supplied by the hotel, carefully going around the room and picking up the clothes they had so rashly thrown about the night before. He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she straightened up with her stockings and his tie in her hands. She turned around, still in the embrace and hugged him back as she looked into his face. 

“Well, good morning.” She said with a hint of teasing in her voice and a sly smile on her face. Her hair trailed down her back and the tips of it tickled Sherlock’s hands on the robe. 

“Good morning, Mrs Holmes.” He answered with a similar smile planted on his face before he bent down and kissed her lips chastely. 

“I’ve ordered pancakes, I know how much you like them seeing as they’re all you want to eat whenever you come to my flat. Would you mind getting them when they come up? I’d really like a shower.” She asked as she pulled away and turned to the bathroom door. 

“Sure, the pancakes and I will both be waiting for you covered in syrup on the bed.” He teased, twirling the towel in his hand and snapping it to slap her on her arse. 

Sherlock continued to dry off and dressed in the dressing gown that matched Molly’s. A knock at the door came soon after and he opened to a ridiculously dressed young man standing behind a food trolley with their order on it. Sherlock stepped aside and allowed the bellboy to push the trolley into the front half of the room, where he wouldn’t be able to see the mess of clothes and sheets in the other half. 

“Just leave the trolley out in the hall when you’re done and someone will collect it shortly.” The ginger man directed as Sherlock handed him a tip. “Oh, and here’s some post for you, sir.” He finished by handing a small stack of envelopes to Sherlock, all varying in size and colour, before taking his tip and leaving. 

When Molly came back out she found a rather thoughtful Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed. “And here I thought I wouldn’t have any syrup left to drizzle.” She teased, wearing the robe but very evidently still wet underneath. She climbed onto the bed and knelt down next to him, pressing her side onto his arm. “Are you set on breakfast first, or do you really want to make a mess, because I came up with something fun we could do while I was in the shower.” Molly whispered into his ear before catching his earlobe into her mouth and sucking on it.

Sherlock pulled away and gently nudged her away, sending her toppling back to sit on the bed. 

“Molly, I’m sorry, last night was a mistake.” He said quietly without meeting her gaze. “I think I had far too much to drink and got ahead of myself. I think from now on we should just focus on the case.” 

Molly felt the air rushing out of her and an angry and embarrassed flush creeping up her neck and settling in her cheeks. She wondered what on Earth could have caused Sherlock to go from… well, loving husband to the cold jerk he usually was. Then she took in his excuse. It didn’t make sense because he might have been drunk last night but he certainly didn’t seem hungover now and if he was then why the hell had he been so friendly and teasing her just a few minutes before. She tried to think what could have happened in the short moments when they were apart but only came up with a blank. 

“Sherlock… I- What do you mean, it was a mistake?” She finally managed to get out. 

“I mean, I did not intend to have sex with you, Molly Hooper. I never intended for this to be anything more than a cover for a case, so please let’s just focus on that and we can get out of this rather uncomfortable situation a whole lot quicker. And before you ask nothing happened to change my mind because my mind hasn’t been changed.” He spat back at her. 

“All right, fine.” Was all Molly could say. Because a part of her knew that it had all been too good to be true. A part of her knew they were making a mistake and she had so the night before. She knew he wasn’t telling her something but she was just going to let it drop before she made him even more annoyed than he already was because she really hated trying to cope with him when he was in a mood. She made a silent vow to herself. She vowed to help him with his case, as she’d promised, provide him with a cover as Ainsley Chambers and a plausible way to get Amanda to safety, should she need it, without him having to abandon his work. She would avoid any form of flirting, teasing or even talking unless they were in direct earshot of one of their new neighbours, save John and Mary, the latter of whom she’d be immediately filling in on all the details that had occurred after the wedding. 

In the eyes of the neighbourhood, she would be the best damn wife anyone has ever seen but behind closed doors she vowed to make his life miserable. 

“We should probably be leaving soon, there’s far too much left to do before we move to the new house next week and not nearly enough has been done with Anthea distracted over the stupid wedding. Get dressed and pack up and we’ll go.” He ordered having dressed into one of his normal suits. 

Yes she vowed to make his life miserable, starting now. She crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled the trolley closer to her. She uncovered the pancakes before stretching her lips into a bright sarcastic smile and turned to Sherlock. “You said we should focus on the case, and that doesn’t start for at least another week, so I’ll be damned if I miss out on such a delicious looking breakfast. It looks so delicious I’ll probably call room service and order seconds, possibly thirds and I will take my sweet time eating it. You can leave if you want, I’ll catch a cab back when I’m done.” She said through her tight smile, rather effectively sending him to hell. She poured syrup over her short stack of pancakes and watched delightfully as it slid down the sides, licking her lips in anticipation. Over the top pancake she could see Sherlock skulking over to the other side of the room and opening up his laptop, furiously tapping at the keys when it loaded up. 

Something told Molly that her vow to piss Sherlock off at any given moment was going to prove a very exciting challenge indeed.


	10. A (Not So) Clean Slate

When the car slowed and turned onto the road it was like something out of a T.V. series or the beginning of a movie. A series of neat, matching little houses sat next to one another with only very little varying details. One had red rose bushes at the front, the other had a garden full of colour and a small tree growing. Another had a bird bath, the other was littered with toys. As Molly looked out the window, Amanda jumped into her lap. 

 

“Let me see.” She complained, cupping her hands to the darkened window and squeezing her face in between them to get a better view. Molly pushed the button to roll down the window allowing her to see the bright colours instead of the dull filtered version. “Molly, the houses here look like the one my dolly has.” She noticed. 

 

“Yes they do. Aren’t they pretty?” She stroked the girl’s hair as it blew in her face. 

 

“Amanda, we discussed this, you need to start calling Molly mummy now.” Sherlock said. 

 

“Sorry, daddy. But look aren’t the houses pretty?” Amanda clambered among their legs to get to the window on his side and opened it to letting in more warm wind from the summer’s day outside. “Look at that one! It’s pink! Can we get that one? Can we? Can we? Can we?” She asked her father excitedly. 

 

“They’re very pretty but we have a yellow one.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“Yellow?” Molly asked sticking her head out the window and looking ahead of them to see if she could spot her new residence.

 

“Yes, it’s right across from our witnesses’ new address, so ideal and right next door to John and Mary’s which is also ideal.” Sherlock explained, keeping his hands on Amanda because she was bouncing all over the place and was surely going to fall at any given moment. Molly had ducked her head back inside.

 

“Wait. This is John and Mary’s street?” She looked out again trying to get a view of their friends on the street somewhere but the large moving truck in front of them was in the way. Molly knew that if she looked behind her another truck would be following. She briefly wondered how Toby was doing in his cage in the back of the car. 

 

“Yes.” Sherlock sighed annoyed at having to repeat himself. 

 

As they turned a slight bend in the road Molly saw one of the grander houses in front of her. Her big brown eyes widened as she took it in. It was three stories tall, with a wide driveway and front garden area in front of it. The garden was beautiful but green, no other colour whatsoever. It had an overground garage which she could tell took up the majority of the ground floor along with an entryway led to by a large heavy-looking wooden door. The front door, Molly corrected herself as she noticed it was the only way to access the house. This section of the house seemed to extend itself from the main house’s side. It was retreated slightly inward and had a second floor to it, retreated even farther back with two sloping roofs. The main house seemed to be built on top of the garage. With the semi-circular front taking up at least half of the facade. 

 

A small balcony extended over the garage to look onto the front garden with another sloping roof atop it. The third floor was much the same minus the balcony. The whole front of the house was littered with white windows, railings and mouldings however the front and garage doors were both black. But what really made Molly stare was the colour: Yellow! And it was the only sign of yellow on the street. The very idea of her living in that house was daunting, let alone having to share it with her fake husband and their daughter. She gulped down her anxiety and turned back into the car. 

 

“Amanda I think I see our new house.” She told the little girl trying to fake excitement. She was twirling her nervous fingers round the tips of her hair.

 

The girl rushed forward and slammed her little body against the inside of the car door, catching herself before she could get hurt. “Where?” She squinted against the bright day.

 

“That one.” Molly pointed. 

 

“Oh, mummy it’s so pretty! Look at all the windows, I wonder which one’s my room.” She bounced excitedly. 

 

“You can pick out which room will be yours first.” Sherlock promised with a laugh on his lips. It was always worth a little boredom to see his daughter this excited.  

 

“We’ll do it up just the way you want it.” Molly said, balancing the girl in her lap. 

 

The trucks pulled up along the curb but their driver turned into the driveway. Their driveway, Molly mentally corrected. She would have to get used to this very fast if she was going to help avoid suspicion. Molly opened the car-door from the inside and Amanda jumped out running over to the front door, knocking. 

 

“No one’s going to open the door for you, Amanda.” Sherlock explained catching up to her on the porch. Amanda had agreed to them using her usual name for the cover instead of coming up with a new one. 

 

“But Mrs. Hudson always opens the door when I knock at Baker Street.” 

 

“Yes but Mrs. Hudson’s not here, not unless she sneaked into the back of one of the trucks at least.” Sherlock whispered as he turned to look for Molly and found her practically packing herself into the car’s trunk. “Mo-Ainsley, what’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly remembering that they were now effectively undercover and he needed to use her fake name.

 

Molly gave him an answer but she was so far inside the car that Sherlock couldn’t hear her. He walked over to her and noticed that her feet weren’t even touching the ground. 

 

“Ainsley?” He asked again. 

 

“I said.” She started as she rose out of the trunk with a huff. “One of the suitcases fell on Toby’s cage and knocked it over and opened the door. He must’ve gotten spooked cause he’s wedged himself somewhere in there. I think I can see a bit of his tail.” 

 

“Here, let me.” Sherlock offered as he took two of the largest suitcases out and dove back into the trunk taking over Molly’s previous position. “Toby! Where is that infernal creature.” She heard Sherlock’s muffled voice coming from among the luggage. She couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. 

 

“I see you’ve made it all here alive then.” She heard a familiar female voice from behind her. She turned to see Mary and John standing side by side with welcoming smiles. 

 

“Yeah we made it here all right.” Molly said cheerfully. 

 

“Welcome to Brompton Lane.” John said. “Thought we’d come give you a hand moving in, and by the looks of it you need all the help you can get.” John indicated Sherlock’s still visible backside protruding out from between boxes and bags. 

 

“Toby got scared and he’s somewhere in there, hiding. We can’t seem to get him out.”

 

“John! Is that you?” Sherlock piped up. 

 

“What’s the matter,  _ Paul _ . Can’t tell direction now can we?” John joked slapping Sherlock’s lower back.

 

“I’m trying - Wait, I see him. Toby, come he-OW!” Sherlock suddenly jumped backwards out of the trunk, knocking a box and a small bag out with him, and was holding his right wrist with his left hand. “He scratched me.” He looked indignantly at Molly. “I am trying to help get him out and he scratched me, ungrateful feline!” 

 

Molly and Mary just stood there giggling. John shook his head and held his hand out to take Sherlock’s one. “Let me see that.” He examined the scratches which ran from the middle of the back of his hand and a good way along his forearm. The puffed pink skin was beginning to show a line running along the middle. “Wow, he really dug his nails in didn’t he?” John asked stifling a laugh. “I’ll get you some antiseptic. Do I need to get a bandage or will you listen and keep it clean?” 

 

“Get a bandage, there’s dust.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“Okay.” John sighed. “Mary do we still have that leftover tuna salad in the fridge?” He asked his wife before leaving. She nodded confused. 

 

When John came back he was carrying a small green first aid kit and a glass bowl which contained some form of beige-coloured food. He handed Molly the kit. “Does he still have his or did he blow it up in some experiment?” 

 

“He’s supposed to have one is he? He’s been using mine for the last 4 years at least.” 

 

“Keep it, I’ve got another one. I’ll give you more supplies later. Can you take care of him?” 

 

Molly made her way to Sherlock who was now sitting on the porch next to Amanda who seemed extremely interested in his wounds. 

 

“Can we see under the microscope?” Amanda asked. 

 

“By the time we find my microscope they’ll be nearly healed but I’m sure one of us is bound to get scratched again with that thing living with us for the foreseeable future.” Sherlock reassured as he rubbed the girl’s back. 

 

“Daddy, Toby isn’t a thing, he’s a Toby-kitty.” 

 

“Thank you, Amanda.” Molly said as she knelt in front of Sherlock and took his right arm and rested his elbow on his knee. “Would you like to be my nurse, Amanda?” 

 

The little girl stood up and patted her dad on the head. “There, there.” She patted his curls. He looked down at Molly and rolled his eyes with a smile. “If you’re a good boy, we’ll give you a lollipop when we’re done.” Amanda promised. 

 

“This is going to sting.” Molly warned as she prepared the colourless liquid on the cotton pad. 

 

“You can hold my hand if you like.” Amanda whispered. Sherlock obeyed knowing that his daughter loved nothing more than to be helpful. She even gave him a reassuring squeeze of her hand when he instinctively pulled his arm away from Molly as the liquid made contact. “There, there.” She said again. Molly covered the scratches, packed the kit up and stood up. 

 

“All done.” She announced. “How about you open the door so we can start bringing the things in, and try not to injure yourself again.” Molly said with a condescending tone.

 

“It’s all your cat’s fault.” He remarked. 

 

Molly shrugged and walked back to the rear of the car where John had unloaded half of the trunk and lured Toby out with the tuna. Amanda trotted off behind her. 

 

“Where’s my lollipop?” Sherlock called after her. 

 

Amanda turned back, shrugged and said. “Don’t have one. You can get one later if you take me to the sweet shop. I don’t have any here.” Sherlock just looked after his daughter. She was getting ridiculously good at getting him to do  _ whatever _ she wanted. She knew he had a sweet tooth. 

 

Hannah Watson eventually came and stole Amanda from under their feet and took her to play in the Watson’s back garden, which they all happily realised led directly to the Holmes’ new one when all four adults carried boxes into the new kitchen to find that the two girls had mysteriously migrated into the adjoining yard from next door. 

 

The four of them spent the rest of the day unloading the car and trucks and bringing everything inside where it was supposed to go, and when that was done, unpacking the essential items first. Mary quickly told Molly everything she needed to know about the new neighbourhood. At one point Molly looked out the living room window and saw another moving truck stop on the opposite side of the road and wondered briefly if she should inform Sherlock that their new neighbour had arrived. She quickly realised there was no need when she saw John and Sherlock waving to him from the driveway. Clearly Sherlock intended to play the ‘nice neighbour’ card. Though how long that could last Molly didn’t know. 

 

That was around the time that she saw the four women across the road and about three houses up from the new neighbour’s all chatting together with coffees in hand and pointing out the trucks on the street. Molly made a mental note of them in case they posed a problem: A red-head, two brunettes and a blonde. The redhead was the tallest, one of the brunettes and the blonde were slightly shorter than her but seemed equal to each other in height and the fourth brunette was shorter but obviously the best dressed. They all had pale complexions except for the short brunette who seemed a lot tanner than the others. 

 

That night both families ordered take-out and ate at the Watson’s because Sherlock had neglected to tell Molly that he wasn’t bringing his table from Baker Street because of the questionable stability. They were going furniture shopping first thing in the morning but until they actually got the table and chairs dinner would be held at the Watson’s.

 

******

 

Across the road, Leo Klein, or Eric Bailey as he was now going to be known, was receiving his pizza delivery. He cast a supervising glance over the two houses right opposite. He briefly wondered how a couple who had just moved onto the street were so friendly with one who seemed to have lived here for quite some years already. And more importantly, why they had seemed so keen to be friendly with  _ him. _ He looked over to the smaller of the two houses and saw the lights on inside and the new and old residents, Paul Chambers, journalist and John Watson, doctor, as he had quickly learnt, were standing in the doorway, also receiving their dinner order. They spotted him as the delivery boy left and he waved to avoid suspicion. They waved back, smiling. 


	11. Splish Splash

Time wore on slowly and uneventfully. Sherlock and Molly had agreed to sleep in separate bedrooms with her taking the large master bedroom with en suite bathroom and walk in wardrobe as he took one of the plainer guest bedrooms. They didn’t speak to each other unless it was necessary and even then, saying what they needed with the least words possible. Molly on her part was doing everything she could to make his life a living hell. It was one of the very few things she could do while she was here pretending to be Ainsley Chambers. She caught up with a lot of her hobbies namely crafting and knitting. Her cooking was also getting better as she was now doing it everyday, sometimes thrice a day. She spent most of her time entertaining Amanda and getting a chance to bond with her which she hadn’t had before. Molly’s favourite part of the day though, was sneaking Toby into Sherlock’s room every night, with a silent little snicker as she padded off back to her room. Sherlock knew there was something that was bothering her but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. Eventually he decided to breech the subject. 

 

“Molly, is everything… alright?” 

 

“Just focus on the case Sherlock, and let me read my magazine.” Molly waved off dismissively as she flicked a few more of the glossy pages. “Actually I think I’m going for a swim in the backyard.” She said out loud as she stood up and walked out of the room. 

 

The doorbell rang as she turned into the large foyer to take the stairs. She veered off and answered it, to reveal her redheaded neighbour. She had met her and a few of the others at a school thing Mary had dragged her to since they had to pretend that Amanda would be transferring there in the fall (and in all fairness she probably would considering that nearly half the summer was over and there was nothing proving Eric’s innocence or guilt either way.) but she couldn’t remember her name. 

 

“Hey…” She said wracking her brain to try and connect a moniker to the smiling face before her. The redhead was holding a basket of cookies and she handed it to Molly. 

 

“I just wanted to drop off a little something to welcome you to the neighbourhood. I’m sorry we haven’t had time to meet properly but I’m throwing a little party and everyone is going to be there, I was wondering if you and Paul would like to join us. Oh and your daughter would be welcome as well of course, all the neighbour’s kids will be there too so she won’t be too bored.” She said in such a poised manner that Molly thought she might be talking to the queen. 

 

“Sure, we’d love to. That’s so very nice of you, thank you.” Molly smiled as she took the proffered basket from her. “Um, when is it?” 

 

“Oh, it’s this coming Saturday at 8:30 pm, my house. There’ll be drinks and refreshments, but do let me know if there are any dietary requirements, I wouldn’t want to send anyone into anaphylactic shock or anything.” The redhead said half-jokingly. 

 

“Ah no, thankfully we have none of those.” Molly said with a small laugh. “I’d invite you in but my husband is working on his latest article and it’s a mess in here.” Molly lied. Sherlock had told her from the get go to avoid having people inside the house whenever possible because you never know when someone might plant a camera or a microphone. The only exceptions to the rule were of course John and Mary. 

 

“Oh no, that’s okay, I have to get back home anyway, lots to do!” The redhead said, waving off the invitation, before she turned back and made her way back up the driveway and across the street. Molly closed the door behind her and took the cookie basket back to the kitchen, taking one between her fingers as she turned to walk out into the large garden behind the house. She crossed the yard to the fence and stood up on her tiptoes to look over into the Watson’s garden, which was only slightly smaller than theirs. Amanda and Hannah were sitting on a blanket under a garden umbrella having a pretend picnic, surrounded by six dolls and teddy bears. 

 

“Amanda?” She called her daughter before opening the gate and going into her neighbours’ garden. 

 

“Hello, mummy.” Amanda came running up to Molly and took her hand, leading her over to the blanket. “Do you want some tea?” The girl asked her, holding up the empty teapot and tipping it over into one of the pink plastic teacups and handing it over to Molly. Hannah handed her aunt a matching plastic plate of biscuits. 

 

“Thank you, sweetie.” Molly thanked both of them. “I was just going up to change into my swimsuit and have a nice dip in the pool. Do you want to come with me, panda?” She asked her daughter. Amanda loved the water more than anything, mostly due to the fact that she wanted to be a mermaid like Ariel. 

 

“Can Hannah come with us?” Amanda asked. 

 

“If Auntie Mary says she can join us.” Molly said. Hannah got up and ran into the house calling for her mother. A minute later, Mary popped her head out of an upper story window. 

 

“Hi, Molly, I’ll get Hannah dressed and send her over.” Mary called. 

 

“Hi Mary. Feel free to join us if you want to.” Molly called back up. 

 

“Thanks, I think I will in a while.” Mary smiled back. Molly nodded before waving back to her friend and leaving the garden with her daughter. 

 

Back in the house, Molly helped Amanda get her red and white polka-dot frilly swimsuit on, before slipping on her dark blue one with red and white tropical flowers. She was gathering her towel and sun hat in her bedroom when she happened to glance out of the large bay window which looked out onto the street. Across the road she saw Eric looking out of his window and staring straight into her bedroom. She looked away not wanting him to notice her looking back. She figured it could just be her imagination and he was only looking out of his windows. Molly grabbed her things and went back down to the living room where Sherlock was still sitting at his laptop. 

 

“Panda and I are going for a swim.” Molly announced to her husband without stopping. 

 

“Mmm.” He grunted in acknowledgement, having not paid her any attention. His eyes were glued to the laptop but glanced quickly towards his wife. He was surprised to see her in a swimsuit. “What are you wearing?” Sherlock asked. 

 

Molly stopped and sighed. “I said, Amanda and I are going for a swim, in the pool, so naturally I’m wearing my swimsuit.” 

 

“Since when do you have a swimsuit?” Sherlock asked incredulously. 

 

“I buy at least one every year.” Molly explained patiently. 

 

“I’ve never seen that.” Sherlock commented. 

 

“That’s because I’ve never worn it around you.” She retorted. “And it’s no different to my underwear, you’ve seen me in that.” She stated matter-of-factly.

 

“It is different. You wouldn’t walk out into the garden with just your underwear.”

 

“Wouldn’t that be just another social construct?”

 

“Please don’t say that around Amanda, it’s hard enough to get her dressed after her baths without her going all feminist on me.”

 

“Why are we even discussing this?” 

 

“I’m bored!” he exclaimed, pushing the computer off his lap and shaking his hair in frustration. “The case is going nowhere. I’ve pursued every possible lead I can think of. There’s nothing left for me to do, until  _ he  _ does something.” Sherlock gestured towards the front door. 

 

“Come on, mummy.” Amanda shouted from the garden. 

 

“Well, if you’re so bored, why don’t you just… I don’t know, read a book, or something.” Molly suggested. 

 

“Urgh…” Sherlock grunted looking back at Molly, and noticing for the first time how good she looked in the swimsuit. “It…um…suits you…that.” 

 

“I see. You’re bored so you’re trying to get on my good side. Well, I’m not going to let you play that game with me anymore, Sherlock Holmes. Find another hobby.” Molly cautioned him, turning away from him sharply, her hair flying over her back as she strutted away, tossing her towel over her shoulders. Sherlock sat there staring at her leave with a small smile on his lips. Molly was definitely playing his game, even if she didn’t know it. He could hear the splashes from the backyard where Molly and the two young girls had jumped into the pool. He got up and dashed upstairs. 

 

Molly was standing at the shallow end of the pool shielding her face with her hands and arms as Hannah and Amanda pelted her with splash after splash of pool water when she heard her daughter laugh. 

 

“Daddy, what are you wearing?” Amanda said, paddling over to the shallowest edge of the pool, where her father was standing on the deck. 

 

“I thought I might come have a swim with you, panda.” Sherlock said as he knelt down to tickle his daughter’s wet chin. 

 

“Can you be my dolphin?” Amanda asked suddenly. 

 

“Sure. But you’ll have to show me.” Sherlock answered. Molly rolled her eyes, making sure he couldn’t see. If anyone else had asked him such a ridiculous question he would’ve shut them down and told them how utterly stupid they sounded but as soon as Amanda shot him her little girl smile he was putty in her hands. He would do anything she asked him too.

 

“Your shorts are funny.” Amanda said. 

 

“Grandma bought them for me for our holiday last year.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“That explains it. But we didn’t go on holiday last year.” Amanda countered. 

 

“And now you know why. Watch out.” Sherlock warned as he slipped into the water. 

 

“She’s right, those shorts are ridiculous.” Molly commented as Sherlock waddled over with Amanda floating along, holding onto his wrist.

 

“My mother thought it was a good idea, you’ve met her.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“Your mother’s nice. Are you sure that it wasn’t Mycroft’s doing?” Molly tittered trying to find a word to describe the light blue shorts with bright orange birds on it. 

 

“I’m sure. His are worse. They’re baby pink with dark blue flowers.” Sherlock described with an evil smile. 

 

“Great now I have that image stuck in my mind for good.” Molly laughed, mentally kicking herself after, for falling into his trap. She knew what he was doing, he was trying to melt her anger by flirting with her, but she was still pissed at him. Strange how, even after all this time, this was still the dynamic between the two of them. 

 

“Sorry.” He said. 

 

“Dolphin, daddy.” Amanda squealed as she jumped up and splashed water next to him, getting both their attention. 

 

“Right, how are we doing this then?” Sherlock asked his daughter. 

 

“You go swim where your feet can’t touch the ground and I hold onto you like a dolphin.” Amanda explained, pointing to the deep end. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to play chicken instead?” Sherlock offered.

 

“Later. Dolphin now, please.” Amanda ordered. 

 

“Excuse me for a second.” Sherlock told Molly before he lunged forward into the water towards the deep end. Amanda followed him, catching on to her father’s forearm, as she floated along with him while Hannah and Molly continued playing in the shallow end. 

 

They stayed like that for a while until Amanda announced that she wanted to play chicken, which they couldn’t play without Molly and Hannah joining in. 

 

“How about you come be on my team, panda?” Molly suggested, wanting to spend some time with Amanda herself. 

 

“Okay, mummy.” Amanda answered, swimming over to Molly. 

 

“So Amanda and Hannah sit on our shoulders while they try to push each other off.” Sherlock explained the game to Molly, who rolled her eyes in response. 

 

“I know how to play the game, Sherlock. I used to play with my brothers and sisters all the time when I was a kid. Just watch yourself, each game started with them fighting about who was getting me on their team.” Molly teased competitively. 

 

“Watch  _ yourself _ Hooper. I used to just love holding Mycroft under water. Needless to say, he hated it.” Sherlock countered. 

 

“I still don’t think you have a chance with me and Amanda, she’s ruthless, even if you are her father.” Molly continued as she crouched down for Amanda to climb unto her back. The young girl shimmied up her mother’s back and up onto her shoulders. Similarly, Hannah took her place up on her Uncle Sherlock’s shoulders. 

 

“Any particular rules you want to play by?” Molly asked before she took her first steps towards Sherlock. She was holding Amanda’s knees tightly to her shoulders. 

 

“No holds barred.” Sherlock confirmed with a sly smile. 

 

“Okay then. On your marks, get set, Go!” Molly announced. 

 

Both adults stepped towards each other as the girls clasped their palms together, each one trying to push the other one off their adult’s shoulders. Both girls used dirty tricks like tickling each other and pulling on each other’s hair. Molly and Sherlock didn’t interfere, especially since neither girl got hurt or overdid it. 

 

“Hannah’s going to win this.” Sherlock told Molly under his breath, not wanting his daughter to hear him support his niece. 

 

“Don’t push it, Holmes.” Molly warned. 

 

“Amanda’s losing it, she’s one tickle away from going down.” Sherlock noticed. 

 

“Not if you go down, first.” Molly taunted. 

 

“How…” He started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish since he was underwater in the next second. Molly had used one of her legs to pull Sherlock’s knees out from under him. He and Hannah both fell down while Amanda cheered gleefully. Sherlock rose up out of the water, coughed a couple of times and shook the water out of his curls, helping Hannah swim back to the shallow end. 

 

“That was cheating.” Sherlock accused, pointing at Molly. 

 

“You said ‘no holds barred’” Molly air-quoted in a sing-song tone, Amanda cheering away as her mother helped her down off her shoulders. 

 

Sherlock lunged towards Molly, tucking his head and aiming for her midsection. They both disappeared under the water in a flurry of splashes for a moment before both reappearing again, squeezing water out of their hair. 

 

“That was uncalled for.” Molly said slapping him hard on his bicep. 

 

“That was payback.” Sherlock smiled. “I want a rematch.” He insisted. 

 

“Okay. But if you don’t set any rules then you can’t say that I broke them.” Molly warned. 

 

They played four more rounds, Molly and Amanda losing the next two since Sherlock and Hannah upped their tricks. Molly and Amanda ended up winning overall, having won the last two rounds in addition to the first. They all dried off before going back into the house, Hannah having crossed back into her parents’ garden through the adjoining gate. Sherlock took care of Amanda, making sure that she got washed and dressed, while Molly got a head start on dinner. 

 

She let the food simmer and sit for a while and headed upstairs to change herself, nearly bumping into Sherlock as he walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel tied around his hips. She washed and changed before heading back down for the family dinner. They spent the rest of the night quietly: Amanda nodding off soon after she had finished dinner, Sherlock getting back to his laptop, and Molly watching a  _ Glee _ re-run on TV. 

 

She eventually headed up to bed as well, bidding Sherlock goodnight who ignored her as he usually did. She switched the light on her bedroom, finding Toby rolling all over the bed. 

 

“How about you go wait on Sherlock’s bed, Toby. I know how much you both love it.” Molly snickered quietly as she padded across the hallway and opened Sherlock’s bedroom door, letting Toby slink into the darkness of the room. She walked back into her room, stopping in the doorway. Once again she could see Eric Bailey staring into her bedroom window. She quickly crossed the room and ducked into her walk-in wardrobe. This was the second time in less than 24 hours that she had caught him doing this. She honestly didn’t know what to think. She didn’t want to over-react and go running to Sherlock, he would just tease her if she was wrong. But she didn’t want to simply overlook it either, especially if this could pose a threat to Amanda. She would never forgive herself if that happened. She changed for bed and turned off the bedroom lights from the switch within the closet, then she ran for the bed, hiding under the covers as quickly as she could. 


	12. Caught Red Handed

“I don’t understand why we have to go to this!” Sherlock groaned and flopped on top of the bed as Molly continued to get ready. He was wearing a pair of his suit trousers and one of his tight fitting shirts. He was in Molly’s room waiting patiently for her to get ready, while Amanda was sitting on the bed beside him stroking a purring Toby. 

 

“Because I’m bored of being stuck in this house all day long, doing practically nothing, normal people don’t do that and since we are pretending to be normal we have to socialise amongst our neighbours. Besides, it’s not like you’ve been able to get a lot of information on Eric from in here, maybe if we go to the party and you talk to him you can get a better read on the man. Maybe figure out why he’s been spying on us through our bedroom windows.” Molly explained as she made a knot on the belt of her emerald green wrap-around dress. She slipped on a pair of black pumps and sat down on her vanity to touch up her lipstick. 

 

“Good point, but try to remember that you are a former paediatrician, Mrs Chambers.” Sherlock said, reminding her of her cover story. 

 

“I know, and you remember that you’re a journalist,  _ Paul.”  _ Molly smirked. “What kind of journalist are you, anyway, I never thought to ask.” She suddenly remembered. 

 

“Criminal, court, that sort of thing. Most journalists who write about crime will have a pseudonym they write with, just in case. So no one will be suspicious if they’ve never heard of me.” Sherlock explained, getting back up from the bed and stretching his arms to the ceiling. 

 

“That’s very clever, Paul dear.” Molly said, slipping into her character. “Did you get the wine I asked you for, we can’t go to someone’s house empty handed.” 

 

“Yes, Ainsley darling, it’s downstairs in the fridge.” Sherlock answered as he looked back to Molly, noticing how well the dress fitted her figure and how flattering the colour looked on her pale skin. 

 

“Amanda, sweetheart, are you ready?” Molly asked the little girl who was still on the bed rubbing Toby. 

 

“Yes, mummy, I’m ready.” Amanda said hopping down from the bed. 

 

“Ah I think you might want to check again. Your skirt is covered in cat fur. Come here.” Molly told her as she got up from the stool with a small clothes brush in her hand. 

 

After another five minutes of brushing the white and yellow grey hairs off Amanda’s pink skirt they left, chilled wine in hand and walked down the street. Mary, John and Hannah caught up with them a few seconds after they had left their house. 

 

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Mary asked after they had greeted each other. She knew that Sherlock didn’t take a night off simply because it was a party and he might have wanted to enjoy himself. If anything focusing on the crime was the only way he was going to enjoy himself tonight. 

 

“Given the general proceedings of such a party, the men and women usually split up into separate groups, so John and I should stick together and keep an eye on Eric throughout the party. You and M-Ainsley should try and see what someone might know about him, if anyone has seen him leave the house at strange hours, that sort of thing.” Sherlock told Mary, quickly correcting himself and calling Molly by her cover name when he saw the residents of the house they were passing by walking down their driveway. He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper.

 

The party went as everyone had expected. The men had gathered in the living room and left a football game running on the TV in the background. The local team was playing and they were all watching while chatting away. Sherlock had to pretend to enjoy it along with everyone else. Thankfully John had told him about the general subjects that conversations with the men in the neighbourhood took and he had spent the last few days researching the local teams of various sports as well as other important headlines that were currently making the news.

 

As the second loud cheer went up for the night Sherlock gave a quick look around to search for Eric who did not seem to have made an appearance at tonight’s party. However, he quickly spotted him talking with Rex, a doctor who was married to tonight’s hostess. 

 

“Another beer, Paul?” He heard Mike, a plumber, ask him. 

 

“Yeah, sure, we’re in the lead so why not.” Sherlock accepted. He didn’t want to drink too much in case he got a little too tipsy and missed out on the details but not drinking at a party would arouse too much suspicion from the neighbours. 

 

Back in the kitchen Mary was introducing her best friend, Ainsley to the neighbourhood women. Bree, the red head who was tonight’s host and confirmed housewife. Susan, a brunette who was a children’s author and illustrator. Lynette, a blonde who was a marketing CEO for a large company, and Gabrielle, a short petite brunette with dark skin who was a former fashion model and another housewife. They were all very nice and welcoming, inviting ‘Ainsley’ to their weekly coffee morning/poker game. They explained that they generally rotated houses, to which Molly responded that she was not quite in a position to do that since her husband worked from home and they were currently renovating the kitchen. She had studied this excuse by heart since they had been invited to the party and she and Sherlock had agreed that it was best to not invite anyone round, lest they be working with Eric. 

 

Back in the living room, Sherlock spied Eric leaving the room and going out into the back garden. He wouldn’t have thought much of it if the American had been accompanied by one of the party’s hosts. Sherlock kept watching as Eric pulled out his phone and was clearly reading a message. Eric disappeared out of the glass doors and into the darkness outside. 

 

“John, I think it’s getting a little stuffy in here, how about we step closer to the open door?” Sherlock suggested to the doctor. John followed his friend’s line of sight and spotted the back of Eric’s head just before it disappeared out into the darkness. John nodded to Sherlock, trying to avoid arousing the other guests’ suspicions. They took a few steps across the room and picked up a conversation about football players with Mike the plumber again, next to the garden doors.

 

Sherlock was able to keep his attention divided between the conversation and the man standing outside in the dark, seemingly alone, but he could only see the outline of Eric’s head, whose face was turned away from him, due to the soft blue light emanating from the small, kidney shaped pool. Eric’s face was turned away, and looking towards the side fence. From his movements, Sherlock could tell that Eric was having a rather heated conversation. He briefly wondered if the man was talking on his phone, since he had seen him reading a text message as he exited. 

 

Mike was called over by his wife and left the doctor and detective alone. Sherlock quickly explained to John his excuse to walk out into the garden as well without betraying the case to Eric. Sherlock slowly dipped his hand into his trouser pocket and produced two cigarettes.

 

“Take this. Don’t worry you won’t actually be smoking it, just pretend you need one and join me outside when I tell you.” Sherlock explained when a small flicker of panic crossed John’s face. 

 

“I thought you had quit.” John said slowly. 

 

“I did. I haven’t had one puff since Amanda came into my life, but it’s incredibly convenient to keep a packet around for when you need to excuse yourself as in such a situation. And don’t tell Molly. She thinks even this is inexcusable, especially around Amanda, apparently she’s  _ very impressionable. _ ” Sherlock finished with a roll of his eyes.

 

He turned and walked out into the back garden, John following him, a cigarette hanging limply from each of their lips. They hung back silently when they saw that Eric was talking with another man out in the garden, but what caught Sherlock’s attention was that the man did not live anywhere on the lane. From one look at the short dark man, Sherlock could tell that he had had one too many brushes with the law and was currently heavily intoxicated. 

 

Eric and the man saw Sherlock and John coming out into the garden and ended their conversation abruptly. Eric waved the man off and went back inside, without a second look at Sherlock and John. Without waiting to be asked, John followed Eric back into the house, as Sherlock took out his phone and dialled one of the most rarely used numbers in his contacts list. A droll greeting came after the second ring.

 

“Mycroft, our suspect has been spotted talking to an unknown, they seemed to know each other a little too well, and were in far too much of a hurry to end their conversation when John and I joined them in the garden.”

 

_ “Can you describe the second man for me, I’ll have surveillance footage of the area brought up and we can search his background.”  _ Mycroft requested over the line. 

 

“Short, about 5ft 2, dark skin, round face, shaved head. He was wearing a maroon hoodie and ripped denim jeans, ripped through use not through choice of fashion. He seemed intoxicated and will most probably have a police record.”

 

_ “Leave it with me, I’ll get back to you when I have the results. Sherlock, what about that other matter we spoke about, are you handling it with discretion?”  _ Mycroft asked slowly. He knew his brother hated unnecessary prying but at this point he was too worried about him to care what he thought. 

 

“It’s being handled, though I would appreciate your help with that matter as well as we discussed, and remember, Mol- I mean, Ainsley doesn’t know about a thing and I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.” Sherlock insisted. 

 

_ “Rest assured, your secret’s safe with me, but only until such a time that it becomes necessary for Molly to know. If the situation increases beyond a certain point I will feel inclined to tell her, regardless of what it would do to your relationship.”  _ Mycroft warned. 

 

“Believe me, if things get any more complicated I will let her know myself, you wouldn’t stand a chance against her wrath, people generally tend to shoot the messenger.” Sherlock joked. 

 

_ “This is no laughing matter, Sherlock. Take care of it.”  _ Mycroft said sternly before he hung up. Sherlock had a good mind to call him up again and give him a piece of his mind, until he heard his ‘wife’ calling him from the door that led back to the house. 

 

“Paul?” Molly called out into the dark. 

 

“Yes, dear?” Sherlock answered with a little too much enthusiasm. Really the energy it took to pretend to be a happily married couple, made him wonder why so many people did it in the first place. 

 

“Are you smoking out here?” Molly asked incredulously, descending the three small steps into the garden.

 

Sherlock waited for Molly to come stand next to him before he answered. “No, I’m only pretending to. I saw Eric walking out here and I needed an excuse to follow him.” He explained in a whisper. 

 

“Oh. Did you find anything out?” She questioned seriously. At this point they were still not sure if they were watching a dangerous criminal or just a harmless suspect. 

 

“A little something. He was talking to someone we’ve never seen before. I’ve already reported it to Mycroft and he’s watching him. He’ll get back to me with the results.” Sherlock answered, leaving out the second part of the conversation he’d had with his brother. He glanced over the back of the house, and spotted Eric looking back out into the garden through the large glass window in the living room. “Ainsley, dear, how about a little kiss?” He suggested with a small smile on his face. 

 

“He’s watching isn’t he?” Molly whispered, quickly picking up on what Sherlock was telling her. 

 

“Yes.” He nodded. “It is intriguing that he keeps such a close eye on us don’t you think?” Sherlock said. He kept the smile plastered on his face and his eyes locked on hers, looking the perfect picture of the adoring husband. 

 

“Mm, that it is dear.” Molly answered, stepping closer to him and twisting her arms around his neck. Sherlock responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her an inch closer to him so that their fronts were flush together. 

 

They looked at each other for another few seconds before closing the distance between each other and pressing their lips together. Molly’s intention might have been to give Sherlock a chaste kiss but Sherlock’s tongue had other intentions as it darted out and licked Molly’s bottom lip, parting her lips and deepening the kiss.

 

They only parted a few minutes later when John and Mary came out into the garden calling them by their fake names. 


	13. The New Neighbours

Sherlock awoke the next morning to a loud beeping noise. He slammed his hand on top of the alarm clock, pressing the snooze button aggressively and turning back onto his stomach. He groaned as he realised that the beeping was still going on, he sat up, half awake and frowned at the clock whose bright red numbers, which read 10:23 am, hurt his eyes, but they were not flashing the time which meant that the beeping was not coming from the in-built alarm. 

 

He looked around the room, searching for the source of the noise. As he neared full wakefulness he realised that the sound was coming from the other side of the house, possibly outside. He wobbled out of the bed, wrenching the door open and crossed the hall to Molly’s room, banging on her door. She didn’t answer. He knocked again, and when she didn’t answer the second time he practically threw the door inside, finding the room empty and neat, as she always left it during the day (in stark contrast to how he left his own room). He looked in the en-suite bathroom and found it in a similar state of cleanliness. 

 

He left the room, blue silk dressing gown flapping at his ankles, and stood in the hallway listening to the loud beeping, which stopped suddenly. Sherlock listened carefully to the still air and heard laughter coming from the kitchen downstairs. He rushed down, hearing a voice he was not familiar with. He all but ran into the kitchen but stopped dead in the large open archway when he spotted Molly, Amanda and  _ Anthea _ all sitting at the kitchen table having a late breakfast. 

 

“Oh, would you look at that, he’s up!” Molly announced, standing up and moving three empty plates from the table and bringing back a plate full of hot fresh pastries. 

 

“Good morning, daddy.” Amanda hopped down from her chair, where Toby had been sitting in her lap, and ran to her father, hugging his legs. 

 

“Good morning, panda. Anthea, what are you doing here? Have you found anything out about Eric’s acquaintance?” Sherlock asked his brother’s P.A. 

 

“Good morning,  _ Paul _ .” Anthea smiled up at him. He noticed that she was not wearing her usually black skirt suit, but instead she was wearing a pair of dark tight fitting jeans and a white fitted t-shirt. “Your brother wants to talk to you. He’s outside yelling at the movers.” 

 

“Movers? What movers?” Sherlock asked slowly. 

 

“Didn’t he tell you, we’re moving in across the road, right next door to Eric.” Anthea explained with a beaming smile. 

 

“Uncle Mikey’s coming to live here?” Amanda asked excitedly. 

 

“What!” Sherlock exclaimed. 

 

Amanda skipped over to her aunt, as she had dubbed Anthea, since she was always with Mycroft. Sherlock went over to the large window at the front of the house in the living room. He saw Mycroft uncharacteristically wearing a dark t-shirt and dark denim jeans, directing the workers to the different rooms of the house. Sherlock went upstairs and changed quickly, running back down the steps and flinging the front door open, skipping into the street. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked after he had strutted across the street. 

 

“Paul! Brother dear, how are you?” Mycroft greeted happily and loudly with open arms as Sherlock approached him. He  _ hugged _ him, which was strange since the last time Mycroft had hugged Sherlock was when the detective was about seven years old. “The case has taken on a rather unexpected turn Sherlock.” Mycroft whispered in his brother’s ear as he continued to pretend hug him. “The cover’s fairly simple: I’m your brother, Michael. Anthea is my wife, her last name is Nay-Smith. I’m a businessman, she’s a housewife.” 

 

Sherlock raised his arms and wrapped them around Mycroft’s back, pretending to fake hug his brother back warmly. “It’s nice to see you, Michael, it’s been far too long.” Sherlock lied, loudly again, making sure that the nosey neighbour to the right of Mycroft’s new house, Mrs. Rogers, could hear the conversation through her closed window, which wasn’t too hard since her ear was pressed against the pane behind the curtain. “What sort of unexpected turn, what procedure do we need to take?” Sherlock muttered to him, his mind wandering to Amanda and her safety. 

 

“This is the first step, it should be all we need, but we’ll see as we go along. Amanda’s not in any danger, nor is Molly. The other situation we talked about is currently another matter entirely, but I have my best people taking care of it.” Mycroft reassured. 

 

“ _ I _ am your best people, Mike!” Sherlock retorted loudly, stopping short of calling him Mycroft instead of Michael. 

 

“My second best then, but it  _ is _ being taken care of, delicately.” Mycroft insisted again. 

 

Sherlock nodded before he continued discussing the first subject. “What did you find that would warrant taking care of it personally?” He asked suspiciously, since Mycroft religiously avoided personally involving himself in any undercover work. 

 

“The man Eric was conversing with has some intriguing past accomplices, a lot of them not directly linked with him but almost all known to the authorities.” Mycroft explained as a tall mover passed by with a box labelled kitchen. Mycroft recognised it and cut off the conversation with his brother. “Be careful with those, they are family heirlooms and I will hold you personally responsible if you break them.” Mycroft warned the young man as he rushed into the house behind him. 

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle at Mycroft’s reaction, knowing exactly which dining suite he was referring to and trying to imagine how their mother would react if something did actually happen to it. 

 

Inside the house, Molly, Anthea and Amanda were having their own little tea party. 

 

“Anthea?” Amanda said as she continued scribbling onto a piece of paper with crayons. 

 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Anthea asked turning her attention towards the little girl across the table. 

 

“Are you my auntie now?” Amanda asked simply. 

 

“Um, not really. Your Uncle Mycroft and I aren’t really married, it’s just pretend, but you can call me Auntie Anthea if you want.” Anthea answered carefully. She didn’t want to show Molly how much it hurt to actually admit out loud that there was nothing between her and Mycroft. 

 

“You can still be my auntie even if you aren’t married to Uncle Mikey. Uncle John and Aunt Mary aren’t related to Mummy or Daddy and they are my Uncle and Auntie.” Amanda explained. 

 

“That’s right, sweetie.” Anthea said with a sweet smile. 

 

“Honey, why don’t you go and see if Hannah wants to play?” Molly suggested to her daughter. 

 

“Okay, mummy.” Amanda said as she hopped down from her chair and headed out into the garden. 

 

“I have a feeling you didn’t ask her to go out and play because she was getting bored here.” Anthea commented, lifting her teacup to her lips and taking a sip. 

 

“Anthea, I’m worried about something, but I think if I tell Sherlock he might go overboard.” Molly admitted. 

 

“Sounds serious. How can I help?” Anthea asked.

 

“Well, I’ve noticed Eric Bailey staring into my bedroom window. He’s not done it more than three times to be fair but seeing as Sherlock and I aren’t even sharing a room… well, I think he might be on to us. And If he’s spying on us, I don’t think it can be anything good.” Molly confessed. 

 

“I’ll make sure to take a close look at it.” Anthea promised. 

 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t tell Mycroft. He might tell Sherlock. And then the both of them will want me and Amanda out of here, and that definitely won’t help the case.” Molly explained. 

 

“Don’t worry. I’ve hidden plenty of things from Mycroft in the past, and I’m always hiding something from Sherlock.” Anthea said with a little wink. “Besides he could just be a pervert and it’s always more fun when I take care of them personally.” The girls laughed out loud, diffusing the tension that had fallen over the kitchen table. 

 

“So, enough about me. You and Mycroft seem to be getting along well, I mean, I don’t think he’d ask  _ anyone _ to pretend to be his wife.” Molly suggested, raising her eyebrows. 

 

“It’s nothing more than pretend.” Anthea waved off, biting into a sugar biscuit. “I think the only reason he asked was because he knew no one would agree to living with him for an extended, undetermined period of time. He wants me to believe that it’s because he trusts me, but I know better.” She explained. 

 

“Mhm. Whatever you say, dear.” Molly said. 

 

“Oh, Jesus, you’re starting to sound like my mother.” Anthea said, letting her head fall into her hands. 

 

“I take it back, I sounded far too much like  _ my  _ mother not to.” Molly giggled. 

 

“What about you two? How are you and Sherlock handling married life?” Anthea changed the subject. 

 

“Knock, knock.” They heard from the garden door and looked up to see Mary coming in. “I saw the moving truck and Amanda said that you were here. I figured I’d drop by and get my update on the case.” 

 

“No, no, no. I warned Mycroft that I was only coming here on the condition that it would be a break. I’ll keep an eye on Eric for Molly but that’s it.” Anthea explained. “It’s been far too much work and no play at all for Jackie here.” She said pointing her thumb towards her chest. 

 

“Good time for tea then. What  _ are _ we talking about?” Mary asked as she sat down at the table. 

 

“Molly and Sherlock.” Anthea explained. 

 

“Nice to see you’ve changed the subject on me when I wasn’t looking.” Molly scoffed. 

 

“You were going to tell me about how fabulous it is being Mrs Holmes.” Anthea teased. 

 

“Well, it’s not. If I thought Sherlock was blowing hot and cold before he’s going from supernova to ice age instantaneously now.” Molly alluded. 

 

“What did he do now?” Mary asked disbelievingly. 

 

“Well, on our wedding night we had mind-blowing sex and then next morning he told me it was all a mistake and that we should focus on the case. Then, just last week, one minute we’re practically fighting, the next he’s flirting with me. I really don’t know what to expect anymore.” Molly explained. 

 

“Come on, Molls. It’s not like you don’t already know what he’s like during a case. He’s an insufferable five year old at the best of times.” Mary smirked. 

 

“And when he’s not on a case he’s an insufferable  _ three  _ year old.” Anthea continued. 

 

“Yeah, but…” Molly started. 

 

“You love him, I know.” Anthea and Mary said simultaneously. 

 

“Mycroft’s just the same, isn’t he?” Anthea continued. “He snaps his fingers and I go running, but it’s like he doesn’t notice me.” 

 

“So quit.” Mary suggested. 

 

“I did.” Anthea confided. Mary and Molly’s eyes widened in shock. Anthea nodded back. “Yeah, about 8 years ago, I got so fed up, I left without even handing in my notice. I just walked out of there and spent an entire week at home. I started looking for new jobs but there was nothing that really stood out. A week later I went back to my office to get my things and there were these three girls, who were practically just out of school, crammed into my office, the place was a mess and they couldn’t keep up with anything. Mycroft hadn’t had a cup of tea or coffee since I’d left because according to him ‘drinking tar had to be healthier and more delicious.’ He didn’t say as much but he needed me and I went back without thinking twice about it.” Anthea explained. 

 

“Because you love him.” Molly finished for her. Anthea didn’t say as much but the look she and Molly shared told the brunette everything she needed to know. 

 

“Ah we’re suckers for the men we love aren’t we.” Mary commented to the room in general. 

 

“You’re the lucky one though. John loves you more than his own life. I mean, you basically told him that everything you had ever said to him was a lie and he still took you back.” Molly said.

 

“It wasn’t as smooth as that, but yes, I’m very lucky to have found him. I never thought I would find anything like that. You know, last year he found a gun hidden in my underwear drawer and I heard him muttering, ‘Don’t ask, you don’t want to know. You really don’t want to know.’ I still laugh every time I think about it.” Mary giggled. Anthea and Molly joined in the laughter. 


	14. The Reconciliation Method

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a pun. The Reconciliation Method is something that accountants use... but typically not on their wives.

Sherlock left his brother’s house in a huff. Spending any short amount of time in the same room as his brother was exhausting, but now they were living on the same street and he would have to be civil towards him. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft had decided to come undercover with him and keep a personal eye on the case. He knew perfectly well how much Mycroft hated getting involved personally in these matters and, to Sherlock at least, it didn’t seem like there was anything that would deem his brother’s presence necessary, and he certainly wouldn’t have bothered if the only threat posed was to his younger brother. Which was what worried Sherlock. Mycroft only intervened if there was direct danger to someone he truly cared about or if the case was of ultimate importance. And in the grand scheme of things this was not a particularly important case, so Amanda must be in danger, despite Mycroft’s insistence that everyone was safe. 

 

Sherlock stood at the kerb, taking a couple of deep breaths. He got incredibly anxious whenever he started thinking that Amanda was in danger, it was the natural paternal instinct in him. If he were being honest, he hated the instinct and the reactions it instilled in him: it was mostly illogical and wholly unwanted. At the same time, however, he realised that he wouldn’t have this instinct if Amanda wasn’t in his life and now that he’d raised her for the last six and a half years he wasn’t sure he would be able to cope if he simply woke up in the morning and found that he wasn’t a father anymore. 

 

“Hey neighbour.” He heard from his left. Sherlock turned to see Eric Bailey standing on his front lawn dumping a full garbage bag into one of the bins at the edge of his front garden. Sherlock took this opportunity to observe his suspect at a closer range. 

 

“Hey neighbour.” Sherlock repeated as he strolled over to Eric’s front lawn. “Eric, right?” Sherlock feigned, stretching his right hand out in front of him.

 

“Yeah.” Eric nodded, wiping his hand on the back of his khaki shorts before taking Sherlock’s and shaking it. “You’re Paul, right?” he asked slowly, not wanting to get his neighbour’s name wrong. 

 

“Yep, that’s me. Paul Chambers, newspaper journalist.” Sherlock said cockily, playing the part. 

 

“Cool. Eric Bailey, retired.” He announced. 

 

“Oh?” Sherlock’s eyebrows perked up. 

 

“Yeah. I took early retirement. It just got to be too much, you know?” Eric explained. 

 

“Yeah I know. Still must get boring all alone here?” 

 

“I get by. I have a couple of hobbies and a good amount of money saved up.” 

 

Bingo, Sherlock thought. “Well at least you have that. Still any amount of money can run out if you don’t take care of it.” Sherlock led on. 

 

“Nah. I got myself a nice little nest egg. Came into a large sum of money a little while ago. Best part is the ex-wife can’t get to it.” Eric commented. 

 

“You were married?” Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised. 

 

“Yeah. Speaking of wives, you and the missus having a little trouble?” 

 

“Sorry?” Sherlock asked, completely taken off guard. 

 

“’Scuse me if I’m being nosey, pal. I just noticed you two acting a little hot and cold and she reminded me of my ex.” Eric explained. 

 

“No, it’s all right.” Sherlock kept up the pretence, playing the heartbroken husband. “It’s just we’ve been having some  _ connection issues. _ ” Sherlock alluded, his face holding a frown. Truly, he didn’t have to pretend much. He hated not being as close to Molly as he usually was. And lately they’d been getting closer, but he had to hold back until this case was over, then he could attempt to start a proper relationship with her. The way he truly wanted. “We’re going through a little bit of a rough patch right now, but I think we’ll be okay in the long run.” 

 

“I know what you mean. Trust me, what you need to do is pamper her a little, make her feel like she’s the most important woman in the world. And she should be, to you at least.” Eric advised, clapping a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

Sherlock nodded, realising that, whether or not he was a criminal, his relationship advice held at least some logic to it. 

 

“The way I see it, Paul,” Eric continued. “Is that you already made her fall in love with you once. Do what you did then and she’ll fall in love with you again.” 

 

“Thanks for that.” Sherlock said. “I really do appreciate it.” He had a feeling that he was walking away with knowledge a lot more useful to him than the one he had been searching.

 

“No problem, pal. Listen I gotta go, but if you need anything I’m just across the road. I’m almost always lurking about in here, nowadays.” Eric said. 


	15. Creepy Crawlies

Molly sighed as the hot water pelted her sore muscles in the shower. It had been a very long day, and she was looking forward to a hot relaxing shower and getting in bed and reading until the early hours of the morning. Or even until sunrise. There was something about being awake when the house was completely still and silent that was incredibly freeing. It made it even better that Molly was now living in an area that actually slept at night. She loved London, but there was always some noise going on somewhere. Living in the suburbs, there was a natural routine that everyone followed and it was extremely rare to find anyone out of their house after ten pm. 

 

She exited out of the large semi-circular glass shower when she could feel the water getting cooler. She dried herself off and dressed in a lovely pink tank top and white short shorts with pink polka dots. She was a little upset that the only clean set of underwear she had left was a pair of blush coloured lace quarter bra and panties. She put them on with a little scowl and promised herself to do the laundry the next day. 

 

She crossed the room and sat at her vanity, towel drying her hair, before dumping the towel into the laundry basket. When she was sitting at the vanity, she looked over to the side and out of the window where, once again, she saw Eric staring practically straight at her from his own bedroom window. A small shiver went down her spine as she turned her attention back to the mirror in front of her, trying to think why on Earth Eric Bailey would be spying on her. She tried to shake off the feeling of her skin crawling, rolling her shoulders back and forth, trying to diffuse the tension. Molly absentmindedly grabbed her brush and lifted it to her head. She could still feel that crawling sensation on the back of her hand. Molly could see a black spot on the back of her hand and twisted her wrist to look down. 

 

Molly screamed, flicking her hand, trying to get the cockroach off. The insect flew off her hand and landed on the floor a little ways away, scurrying away from the large woman screaming her lungs off. Molly spotted another cockroach dashing out from behind the mirror of the vanity. 

 

Sherlock ran into the room, holding a gun out in front of him. 

 

“Molly what’s wrong?” He asked when he didn’t see any immediate danger in the room. 

 

“COCKROACHES!” She screamed, her balance faltering and her knees giving out. Sherlock was quick on his feet and caught her mid fall, keeping her upright. 

 

“All right. Come on. Can you get down the stairs?” Sherlock asked, leading her out of the bedroom and trying to get her to go downstairs to get to the kitchen. When Sherlock saw that Molly was practically shaking all over he decided that it was safer to pick her up and carry her down the stairs instead of risking her falling down. He flipped the gun’s safety on and slipped it into the side pocket of his blue silk dressing gown, before picking Molly up, bridal style, and carefully carried her down and into the kitchen, lowering her into a chair. “Okay, do you want something to drink?” Sherlock asked her, looking down into her face as he stood over her. 

 

She didn’t answer and her hands were still shaking uncontrollably so Sherlock decided that she did indeed need something to drink. He poured her a glass of water and handed it to her, then deciding it was easier to support her neck and just help her drink it. Sherlock made sure that she drank every last drop thinking that forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand would allow it to compartmentalise whatever happened to her. She was still violently shaking however when he lowered the glass from her lips. Sherlock took his mobile phone from the table where it had been next to him before Molly screamed. He dialled John’s number and the sleepy voice of the doctor answered almost immediately. 

 

“John, I need you to come over, bring your kit.” Sherlock said quickly into the phone.

 

“I heard a scream. What’s wrong.” John asked on the other end of the line, pulling on his coat and picking up his back. 

 

“I don’t know, Molly screamed and now she’s shaking. What do I do John?” Sherlock asked, slightly panicked. He could tell that Molly was having some kind of panic attack but he couldn’t understand what set it off. 

 

“I’m on my way, don’t leave her alone and try to keep her as calm as you can.” John instructed. A few minutes later he was walking through his neighbours’ front door. Molly looked down at the back of her hand and started muttering. 

 

“It’s still there. It’s still on my hand.” She muttered.

 

Sherlock took her hand in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “There’s nothing there, Molly.” Sherlock said gently. 

 

Molly dashed out of her chair and crashed into the edge of the counter in front of the sink, flipping the hot water on and sticking her left hand under it, scrubbing and scratching with her right hand. “It’s still there. The cockroach is still there.” Sherlock hurried after her and switched of the scalding hot water before she could seriously hurt herself and he pulled her into a tight embrace, keeping her from running away again. She clearly needed some sort of medical attention. 

 

“Let’s get her on the couch.” John said from behind him. “We need to get her to lie down and we need to elevate her feet. She’s in shock. Can you tell me what happened?” John took charge of the situation, helping Sherlock lead Molly back to the living room. 

 

“There was a cockroach on my hand.” Molly said almost calmly, although she was still shaking. 

 

“Is that all?” Sherlock asked incredulously, not believing that such a small and relatively harmless insect to turn his Molly into such a state. 

 

Molly turned around and slapped Sherlock on the arm, rather hard. Very hard actually, given that she had put all the force she could muster behind it. “There were  _ two _ of them and one was on my  _ hand _ .” Molly said angrily, tears spilling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. 

 

“Okay, all right.” Sherlock insisted, trying to calm her down. He grabbed her gently by the top of her arms and guided her down into a sitting position. “How about I go get rid of them?” He volunteered, not wanting to insult her again.

 

Molly nodded as she leaned back into a reclining position. John covering her with a blanket. When Sherlock got upstairs he saw a spot of dark red curls in the corner of his eye and half-hiding behind a door. He motioned for his daughter to join him in the hallway. 

 

“What’s wrong, panda?” He asked her, sensing that there was something scaring her. 

 

“Mummy’s screaming. What’s wrong with her?” She asked innocently. 

 

“She’s scared of cockroaches, there’s some in her bedroom.” He answered, stroking her hair. 

 

“Yucky!” Amanda exclaimed, practically jumping up into her father’s arms. 

 

“It’s okay, they can’t hurt you and they’re more scared of you than you are of them. Did you know they’re scared of the light?” Sherlock stated, trying to ease her fear. 

 

“I want a night light.” She demanded. 

 

“I’ll make sure to get you one tomorrow and you can keep the hall light on tonight. Listen, I’m going to get rid of the cockroaches from mummy’s room. Uncle John is downstairs making sure she’s okay, why don’t you go be his nurse?” He suggested. 

 

“Okay, daddy.” Amanda hugged him, before she went downstairs carefully, avoiding tripping in her nightdress. 

 

Half an hour later John was finishing up his tea after having examined Molly. Sherlock came back down with a small paper bag which he threw away in the bin in the cupboard under the sink. He sat down opposite John and took the cup of tea his best friend had made him. 

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Sherlock asked. 

 

“Not much. She scalded her hands when she turned on the hot water and she scratched herself. I bandaged it up as a precaution and gave her an antibacterial ointment. As for the panic attack, she’s calmed down now but I still don’t know what caused it. Amanda’s in there with her, she seemed to know exactly how to calm Molly down.” John explained. Sherlock could see that his friend was speaking with pride when he mentioned Amanda. 

 

Sherlock downed his tea in almost one go before they both got up and headed back to the living room where Molly was sitting on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket, hugging and talking with Amanda. 

 

“You feeling any better, Molls?” John asked. He’d allowed her a few minutes to try and calm down before they addressed the reason behind the panic attack. 

 

“Yes.” She answered sheepishly. “But then again, I have the world’s best nurse.” She gushed, cuddling Amanda closer to her. 

 

Sherlock sat down next to them and resisted the urge to wrap his arm around Molly’s shoulders. He settled for resting it on the back of the sofa instead. “What happened?” He asked her. Sherlock had a couple of theories up his sleeve, but he knew better than to try and deduce the problem with Molly. 

 

“Oh, um. It’s all a bit silly really. I have a phobia of cockroaches.” Molly explained with a small giggle. “It’s not that bad honestly, I’ve never had a panic attack that bad before.” She clarified, looking at John, knowing that as a doctor he was already thinking through the various methods of treatment he could offer her. 

 

“When was it diagnosed?” John asked her. 

 

“When I was about 15. My psychologist thinks it might have been an incident when I was five that sparked it.” Molly answered. 

 

“Oh?” Sherlock piped from next to her with a slightly arched eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, well, when I was five I was scared of the dark and one night I was home alone for like five minutes and I decided I wanted to go into the kitchen but because it was dark and stayed at the edge of the hallway and reached in, trying to find the light switch. Well, there was a cockroach on the wall and I must have startled it and it crawled up my hand. I screamed non-stop until my parents got home. The thing kept crawling up my arm.” Molly recounted with a shudder. 

 

“Yucky.” Amanda said, leaning her head on Molly’s shoulder, as if to reassure her that she would have done the same thing. Molly hugged her closer, not wanting to imagine Amanda going through that same ordeal. 

 

“Well they’re gone now.” Sherlock reassured, letting his hand rest on her back gently. “I checked the whole room and got rid of them for you.” 

 

John stifled a yawn behind his hand. He was determined to do his job and take care of his patient but he was practically dead on his feet now. It was then that he noticed that he was wearing his blue pinstriped pyjamas and brown slippers underneath his green bomber jacket. He could feel the blush creeping up to his face now. He cleared his throat before he started explaining Molly’s treatment to her. 

 

“Well, like I’ve already told Sherlock, your hand isn’t in too bad a shape. You need to keep those scratches clean and make sure it doesn’t blister. I don’t think I need to tell you to contact me or your regular physician if you see anything strange or it doesn’t heal soon. As for the panic attack, since it is linked to a phobia, I won’t be prescribing anything just yet, but if I were you I’d check in with your psychologist. Especially since it seems to me like what happened tonight has a clear resemblance with the conditions behind the origin of the phobia.” John suggested. 

 

“I will, John. Thank you. And sorry you got out of bed.” Molly smiled warmly at her friend. 

 

“No worries. Mary and I were more worried about you lot. Goodnight.” John waved off, before he collected his things and showed himself out, leaving the little family on their own. 

 

“I think it’s time we put you, little panda, back to bed.” Molly told her daughter. 

 

Amanda groaned. She really didn’t like going to sleep no matter what. “I don’t wanna.” She cried “I want to stay up and take care of you.” She told Molly. 

 

“I’ll take care of mummy.” Sherlock offered. “Come on, let’s all go up.” He suggested, taking Amanda in his arms and helping Molly up. 

 

When they got upstairs and tucked her into bed. Amanda turned around and took Molly’s hands. “They’re scared of the light, mummy.” Amanda told her with a little squeeze of her hand. Molly smiled, knowing exactly what her daughter was talking about. She bent down next to the bed and slipped her hand between the mattress and the nightstand finding the little switch for the night light.

 

“There. They’ll stay away from you now.” Molly reassured with a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, panda.” 

 

“Goodnight mummy.” 

 

“Goodnight, little panda.” Sherlock repeated, kissing her on the forehead as well. 

 

“Goodnight daddy.” Amanda said sleepily. For someone who didn’t like to sleep a lot she drifted off easily once she was in bed. 

 

Sherlock and Molly snuck out of the room silently and walked back down the hallway quietly. When they got to her bedroom, Molly took a slight step back, not completely sure if she wanted to go back in there. 

 

“Molly there’s nothing in there. I checked everywhere.” Sherlock reassured her again. 

 

“Would you mind checking again?” She practically pleaded. Sherlock nodded and bowed back into the room, checking every nook and cranny he could see. As he was peeking under the bed, Molly looked out the window and saw the lights of Eric’s house completely turned off but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching them. Sherlock finished his search and turned to leave. “Wait!” Molly cried. Sherlock turned back with a patient but irritated look on his face. “Please stay.” She begged. “I won’t get any sleep alone.” 

 

“Molly…” He began to almost chide. 

 

“Wait, please. Sherlock look out the window behind me.” She instructed, something just occurring to her. 

 

“What am I looking at?” Sherlock asked, growing ever more impatient. 

 

“Look at where Eric’s window is. He’s been spying on me. I’ve been seeing him look into my bedroom for the last week or so. I think he might be onto us.” Molly fibbed. Truthfully, she did think that he might be spying on them, but she didn’t care about that now, she only wanted Sherlock to stay with her for tonight, or the next few nights, until she felt comfortable sleeping alone again.

 

“That would explain our conversation earlier today.” Sherlock said to himself. He continued when he saw Molly looking at him, puzzled. “He was asking about the state of our marriage. If we were having troubles, that sort of thing.” He explained. 

 

“Please stay.” Molly asked again, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “It would make him think we’ve reconciled and if he was suspecting something then …” Molly trailed off, her mind not finding the words she meant. 

 

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed. He turned to the door closed it and walked back over to Molly. “Aren’t you feeling cold with just those shorts?” Sherlock asked her, raising an eyebrow. Molly always loved to stay warm and cosy, especially on breezy nights. 

 

“No, I’m fine.” Molly answered, pulling at the elastic she had used to pull back her hair downstairs. Shaking out her light curls, which were still a little damp. “That bed is really cosy.” She said pointing to the duvet before she turned around to turn on the lamp and the main lights off. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and made his way around the bed to what would be his side, taking off his dressing gown to reveal a grey t-shirt and red tartan pyjama pants. 

 

Molly couldn’t believe that even in such shabby clothes he looked breathtakingly hot, while she was sure she just looked a mess. They quietly slipped under the covers, Sherlock giving a slight jump when Molly’s cold feet brushed his ankles. Molly apologised and bent her knees back to move her feet away from him. Molly desperately wanted to cuddle but held back, knowing that he wouldn’t be too comfortable with it. 

 

Sherlock could sense her hesitation. “Come here, Molly.” He said, stretching his arms out to her. She scooted over into his embrace, breathing in his musk. She was completely unaware of it but he too was breathing in the smell of her shampoo.  Unthinkingly, Sherlock placed a kiss on the top of her head and she looked up at him. 

 

Their lips were only inches apart but given their recent arguments and bickering, she wasn't sure what would happen next.  She bit her bottom lip, effectively pulling it away from him. Sherlock kissed her on the forehead now.

 

“Go to sleep, Molly.” Sherlock suggested. Molly wanted to listen to him. She knew he was right in keeping a distance between them for now. But, goddammit, she was horny, and had been for a while now.  Playing with herself could only satisfy her so much and after all he was technically her husband. 

 

In the dark she reached her neck upwards and kissed him, deeply. At the same time, she let her hand slip under his shirt as she trailed over his tight abdominal muscles and down under the elastic band of his pants. She was happy to realise he wasn't wearing anything else underneath as she took his large cock in her small hands. Sherlock groaned into the kiss and bucked his hips forward at the contact.

 

“Molly.” He warned her breathlessly. 

 

“Sherlock, I'm horny and you're my husband. This is happening.” Molly practically demanded revelling in the thrill of demanding something from Sherlock as he so often did from her. She punctuated her demand with a twist of her fingers around his hard member. She could see his resolve melt as he grew harder. 

 

Sherlock pulled her neck and head forward, slipping his tongue into her mouth and kissing her until they both had to come up for air. “Okay. This is happening.” Sherlock gave in. Molly wasn't too happy about the cocky sound in his voice though. “But if this is happening.” He stated thrusting into her hand. “Then  _ this _ is happening.” He said, pushing her onto her back and lifting her shirt away with very little effort. He was pleased to see that she was wearing her front clasp bra. Doing away with it, he bowed his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth, sinfully swirling his tongue around the hard point. He worked it up to a peak and then moved to the other one, repeating the process. 

 

“Are you enjoying this yet, you little minx?” Sherlock asked with a lopsided smile.

 

“Don't even get me started.” She answered.  Her body was enjoying the attention, but even more than that was the fact that she had gotten Sherlock to bend to her will. She was a sucker for him but she was starting to realise just how much control she had over her detective. Molly smile grew wider when she saw the bulge at the front of his pants. “Okay, those need to come off. Now!” She ordered. 

 

Sherlock obeyed without missing a beat. She realised that he enjoyed being told what to do in bed. She was glad to see, though that he wasn't putting all of his deductions away as he anticipated her by taking off his shirt. She reclined back into a half sitting position. “Do you think about me this way, Sherlock?” She asked flirtatiously. Sherlock's mouth went dry and all he could manage was a nod. 

 

“Good. Do you like stroking your cock when you think of me, love?” She asked as she crawled closer to him. He was sitting so when she came up to him on her knees she towered over him, holding his gaze with hers. Sherlock gulped before he nodded again, what had he gotten himself into? “Pleasure yourself then.” She ordered lazily, still holding his head looking up at her. 

 

He started moving his hand along his shaft, while she planted lazy kisses on and around his mouth. Sherlock reached up with his free hand to take hold of her breast. When she felt him touch her she slapped his hand away. “Uh, uh, uh. You only touch yourself, not me.” Molly chided. 

 

Sherlock grunted, almost in pain, but he retracted his hand and continued to stroke himself as Molly kept planting kisses all over his face, neck, and shoulders. But Molly could sense that Sherlock wanted something more. 

 

“What do you want, Sherlock?” She asked with a loving smile. Sherlock only grunted in response and Molly giggled. “I might be fluent in Sherlock-ese but even I can’t understand that. Use your words, love.” She prodded, thinking she might already know what he wants. 

 

“I want you to suck my cock.” Sherlock said, reaching up and pulling her down a little. 

 

“What’s the magic word?” She teased. 

 

“Please. Please, Molly. Please, love, suck my cock.” He begged, peppering her face with kisses. 

 

Molly pushed Sherlock back, placing her hands on his thighs and spread them a little, smiling at him hungrily. She took him in her hands and swirled her tongue around the tip. 

 

“Oh, dear god, Molly.” Sherlock pleaded knotting his fingers in her hair. Molly decided to be a little merciful and took him entirely in her mouth. She sucked along his shaft, twisting her tongue around him as she pulled up. She repeated this motion a few more times before Sherlock was a whimpering mess beneath her. 

 

“Do you want to come now?” Molly asked him. 

 

“No, I have to take care of you first.” Sherlock said, looking as if Molly hadn’t just sucked him to the edge of bliss. 

 

“Lucky me.” Molly commented. She flopped backwards, raising her legs up in the air as Sherlock moved to her hips, pulling off her shorts and lace panties in one go. 

 

“You wear lace panties just for bed. Naughty Molly. This was premeditated.” He smirked. 

 

“All right, I’m guilty of that, but what are  _ you _ going to do about it?” She asked, gently pushing his shoulder with her foot. 

 

Sherlock considered her for a second, before he rolled off the bed and put on his dressing gown which had fallen on the floor. “Stay here, I need to get something.” He said, crossing the room to the door and opening it slowly. He looked down the hall towards his daughter’s room and, when he saw that the coast was clear, quickly tip-toed across the hallway, to his room, grabbed what he needed and then crossed back in the dark. He was nearly in front of Molly’s bedroom door when he felt something soft under his foot and hear the loud screech. 

 

“Shut up you stupid cat! You’ll wake Amanda up.” Sherlock grumbled at the animal who slinked off somewhere in the darkness. Sherlock could hear Molly laughing out loud, having heard the raucous. Sherlock drifted back into the room with a delighted smile on his face. He closed the door properly behind him again, in case the cat decided he wanted to cuddle with the adults. “Now, where were we?” Sherlock asked with an almost evil glower. 

 

Molly felt a shiver go down her back at the look he gave her. “I confessed.” She said innocently. 

 

“Oh that’s right.” He nodded. Sherlock slipped off the dressing gown and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, showing it to Molly. “Molly Holmes, I’m placing you under arrest for blatant premeditated flirting and seduction. You have the right to moan sensually while I eat you out, and fuck you.” He announced, straddling her and pinning her arms above her head before handcuffing her to the headboard. 

 

“Oh, Sherlock. I’ve always wanted to do this.” She said excitedly. 

 

“Well, you said you were horny, let’s see how long it takes to have you squirming.” He said before he dipped his head between her legs and started sucking on her clit and tonguing her entrance. Molly moaned, sliding forward and pulling down on the cuffs, which added to the sensation. She started rolling her hips in time to his ministrations. She enjoyed the feeling of his nose providing pressure on her nub as he licked her. 

 

“Such a little wanton, aren’t you?” Sherlock muttered between her legs. He removed his hand from her hip where they had drifted and slipped two fingers inside her, crooking them upwards and finding her sweet spot. Molly’s moans and wails were starting to become louder and less controlled which told Sherlock that she was getting much closer to the edge. The sounds that were coming out of her mouth became more desperate and high pitched. 

 

“Oh God! Sherlock! Right there! Don’t stop! Please!” she wailed. Molly gripped the chains of the handcuffs as she felt the muscles in her legs tense. Sherlock added a third finger for good measure and continued pumping into her and sucking on her. Finally she came with a long drawn out moan that Sherlock muted with his own lips on hers. The taste of her on his lips increased the pleasure she felt in her core. As he kissed her, Sherlock took hold of her breasts once more, pinching her nipples and enjoying the fact that her breasts seemed to fit perfectly in his hands. Molly desperately wanted him between her legs again, only this time she didn’t want his mouth there. 

 

“Sherlock, fuck me, please.” She said carelessly. She would have never used such language but she was so undone already that she didn’t care. 

 

“Come again, love.” Sherlock teased, pulling back from their kiss but still playing with her breasts.

 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” She insisted, repeating the plea. 

 

Sherlock complied with a soft chuckle. Hooking both of her knees onto his elbows, he aligned himself at her entrance. “What’s the magic word?” He asked, repeating her earlier words. 

 

“Please, please, please.” She begged quickly, each time rising an octave. 

 

Finally Sherlock had mercy on her and thrust forward into her. She still hadn’t completely recovered from her last orgasm and Sherlock could still feel her tiny muscle spasms here and there as he stilled for her to get used to his girth. Molly grunted and pushed herself forward, trying to get him to move. He mockingly rolled his eyes at her impatience before he started moving slowly. He covered her body with his as he leaned over her, kissing her deeply again. Molly craved more friction and she contracted her muscles around his hard prick to try to get him moving faster. Molly briefly wondered how a man who had been so close to orgasming just a few minutes before had this much self control, it was exhausting. She huffed impatiently into the kiss and Sherlock rewarded her with a sharp rut, before falling back to his lazy pace. He quickly worked out a smart rhythm, thrusting into her slowly and gently, going a little faster and harder each time, working up to another sharp rut and then back down to his lazy pace, repeating the process each time, simply driving Molly insane as he built up to her second orgasm.

 

When he felt that she had been worked enough, he released the handcuffs and adjusted her position, pulling her forward for her to rest her head completely on the pillows and raising her hips to an angle. This was when he picked up the pace, making sure to hit Molly’s g-spot with each thrust. Molly covered her mouth with her hands tightly to avoid screaming out in pleasure and waking up half the neighbourhood. She felt the tension in her legs rising again, and she wrapped them around Sherlock, restricting how far he pulled out of her. Suddenly, her orgasm hit her, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her muscles spasmed around Sherlock’s cock once more and he lost it, spilling his juice inside her. He collapsed on top of her, out of breath, only just capable of supporting himself on his forearms to avoid crushing her as she continued to ride out the waves of her pleasure. She reached around his neck and pulled him closer, melding their lips together. As he felt her relax, Sherlock rolled them onto their sides, never releasing her lips, as their kisses grew sloppier and more careless. Eventually they both had to come up for air and they retracted from each other by just a few inches, blissful smiles on both their faces. 

 

“Jesus Christ. If I’d known you were such a great fuck in bed I would have married you a long time ago.” Sherlock muttered into her ear. 

 

Molly laughed tiredly, noticing that her legs had gone almost completely numb with pleasure and her entire body felt as if it was emanating a pleasurable hum. “You wouldn’t have married me at all if Amanda hadn’t blackmailed you.” 

 

Sherlock turned to look her in the eyes, all traces of joking disappearing. “I didn’t just do it because she wanted me to, you know.” He admitted in no more than a whisper. 

 

“I didn’t say yes because she wanted me to, either.” Molly said. The happiness she felt inside was a hundred times better than the physical pleasure she had felt a couple of seconds before, if that was at all possible. 

 

“I was thinking, it would really be a shame if we were to stop being married after this case ended. Especially given all the work that Mary and Anthea went through to make our wedding day so special.” He said, avoiding using the words she so longed to hear coming from him. 

 

“I agree. I think we should at least  _ try _ to make it work after the case is over. And you know, this house is much more comfortable for everyone than Baker street is. And Amanda loves her room so much that I don’t think we’ll ever be able to get her out of there.” Molly continued, practically admitting that she had dreamt about living in a house like this, with him and their children for so many years. 

 

“Yes, she does love it here. Well, she lives next to her best friend, which makes it even more attractive for her. And you’re right about her room. She would probably chain herself to the walls if we ever decided to move away. And she already knows Hannah in the new school so there won’t be a problem of her making new friends.” Sherlock commented thinking ahead a few months. 

 

“No.” Molly smiled, picturing her daughter chained to the walls of her bedroom and Sherlock trying to negotiate the terms of a new house move. 

 

“So… we’re staying. Married and in this house, that is?” Sherlock asked, just the tiniest hint of hope betraying him in his voice. 

 

“I will… if you will.” Molly whispered with a smile, remembering her wedding vows just a few short weeks before, barely more than a month and a half. 

 

“I will.” Sherlock vowed again. 

 

Molly buried her face in his neck, fighting back the tears of happiness that were threatening to spill out. Sherlock could feel her smile against his skin and pulled her chin up for another make-out round. Only this time there was something so much more beautiful behind it, for the both of them. 


	16. Temptation

The only light in the entire house came from the under-cabinet kitchen lighting and the bright laptop screen shining into Mycroft’s face and giving his already pale face an even whiter pallor. Anthea had retired up to her bedroom quite some time before having decided that it was pointless to even try to wait up for Mycroft since he clearly did not give a damn. 

 

It seemed to her that few people realised how much Mycroft’s disinterest hurt her. It hurt more now that she was seeing Sherlock actually being somewhat caring towards Molly even if he didn’t totally return her love for him. The thing with Sherlock was that he knew how Molly felt about him and he acknowledged it. Mycroft didn’t even notice that she felt something for him, he was completely oblivious. 

 

She was lying in bed now, wearing one of her silk nighties, thinking about how she could possibly try and get a reaction from him and snacking on a bowl of cherries that she had taken up with her. She laughed at her train of thought, realising that she should be focusing on the case but then she realised that there was absolutely nothing for her to do since Mycroft hadn’t even told her any of the details other than that they had to pretend to be a married couple. She had agreed without any hesitation, as she always did, but now she was questioning exactly why he had asked her to come along. 

 

_ “Perhaps he just wants your company.”  _ A small voice in her head suggested. She scoffed out loud. Mycroft didn’t desire anyone’s company. Ever.  _ “Maybe he needs just a little bit of convincing, then.”  _ Her conscience said again. Determined, she stood up from the bed and crossed the room to her underwear drawer in the dark. Using the light from her phone screen which she found on the surface of the chest of drawers, she pulled out the skimpiest and raciest set of underwear she owned: Black lace boy shorts, and matching bra which just barely covered her nipples and a matching black sheer baby doll that went over everything ‘for modesty’s sake’. She padded into the en suite bathroom and quickly changed. Standing in front of the mirror that hung over the sink, she decided to give her hair a light brushing, accentuating the natural auburn curls that twirled around her shoulders. The final touch, she decided, was a pair of black patent leather Christian Louboutin pumps. 

 

She pinched her cheeks, giving them a natural blush, before walking back out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Mycroft heard the soft footsteps and sat up straighter in his chair. He had been going over hours of security footage from CCTV cameras all over the neighbourhood and the surrounding areas. He was also concerned with another matter in the city that had him staying up practically all night. Although Anthea knew all about the case they were on here in Brompton Lane, he couldn’t risk telling her about the second matter for fear of her safety. It was another reason why he was working on it mostly at night, away from her attentive eyes. 

 

He could see the outline of her silhouette against the dark in the living room as she approached the kitchen. He took a deep breath as she stepped into the light and he noticed what she was wearing. Anthea noticed the change in his expression but didn’t stop, practically ignoring him and walked over to the cupboards behind him. She carefully, and slowly bent down to take a mug out of the bottom cupboard, feeling the baby doll reveal her backside and expose it to the cool air. She could hear Mycroft breath sharply and figured that he had gotten an eyeful. 

 

“See anything you like, _ sir? _ ” Anthea positively purred as she stretched back into an upright position, holding a blue and white striped mug.

 

“I think you might prefer the red mug at the back of that cupboard.” Mycroft said with a side glance. He didn’t like being controlled, but Anthea always found a way to get him to do things he might not have ever dreamed of doing. And right now she was telling him that he wanted her. 

 

Anthea chuckled and looked around at the four chairs in the kitchen. Mycroft was sitting in one and the other three were filled with boxes, papers and equipment bags. “You know, I really would like to sit down, but all the chairs seem to be taken.” Anthea said as she slowly approached Mycroft. 

 

Mycroft smiled. Anthea couldn’t believe she had gotten a smile out of the ice-man. She had gotten tight smiles at the office and when she did him a favour. In fact, Mycroft Holmes smiled to her frequently, to everyone else, though, he hardly ever did. But the smile he was giving her right now was warm and there was a mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. Mycroft pushed himself back in the chair and the wood creaked under the strain. Anthea took that as an invitation. She stepped around the chair and gave her back to him. She arched her back and popped her bottom out, relaxing it back into his lap. He supported her back with his arm and pulled her as close as he could. She shimmied her ass, purposefully rubbing on his cock through his clothes. 

 

“Are you sure you want to be doing this?” Mycroft said amusedly, as he placed his hand on her hip. 

 

“I always know what I’m doing…sir.” Anthea purred again. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She had been brought up as a Catholic by her mother and grandmother and she would have never done anything like this, trying to seduce her boss. But, then again she had grown tired of always being the good girl. She leaned in and gave Mycroft a kiss, nipping at his lower lip. She ran her hands along the back of his neck and twisted her fingers into his short hair. She brought her hand back down and pulled on his tie to loosen it. 

 

“Is that a kink I see? Do you like calling me sir, Anthea? Do you like being told what to do?” Mycroft smiled, still running his hands all over her leg. 

 

“Well, I’m in control of so many people all day, everyday, it’s refreshing to be on the other side once in awhile.” Anthea answered as she started undoing the buttons of his shirt. She started kissing his neck all over, nibbling the skin and leaving little pink marks. 

 

“Not such a good girl after all, then?” He said. 

 

“No, sir.” She pouted. 

 

“No. Well then,  I think you need to be disciplined.” Mycroft continued, pulling her chin closer to kiss her deeply. When they broke the kiss, Mycroft rolled her off his lap and stood to clear the table from the laptop. He practically threw it onto the kitchen top behind him, turned and pulled Anthea to him by her wrists, catching her off guard. Mycroft spun them around and leaned down to kiss Anthea again. He slipped his tongue into her mouth as she locked her arms around his neck. Mycroft trailed his hands along Anthea’s back so that he was now supporting her neck and the small of her back as he lowered her back to lay on the table. 

 

“Oh, is this how we’re doing it, sir?” Anthea smiled impishly as she lifted her leg and planted her foot to his chest. 

 

Mycroft took advantage of this and relieved her of her shoe, lifting her ankle higher and planted kisses along her leg, stopping at her thigh, very close to her panties. So close, that he could actually smell how aroused she was. He bent down and lifted her other leg, repeating the motions. He reached Anthea’s thigh again and looked up to see her pupils fully dilated with excitement. He brought his hands up to her hips again and hooked his thumbs under her pants, pulling them down and off, throwing them somewhere behind him. 

 

“Spread your legs for me.” Mycroft ordered in a whisper. 

 

“Yes, sir.” Anthea answered, his voice sending a thrill down her spine which pooled in her stomach. She obeyed and stretched out, exposing herself to him. He leaned in closer, pushing her thighs a little back, pulling the skin at her entrance. He leaned in and started sucking at her wet hole, using his thumb to put pressure on her clit. Anthea’s hand automatically flew to his head between her legs, sinking her fingers into his hair once more. She had to admit that there was something incredibly sexy about seeing the top of her boss’ head between her legs and feeling his tongue lapping inside her and his thumb caressing her nub so sweetly. She leaned her head back down on the table as she felt him bring her closer to an orgasm. She knew she didn’t have long before she came because she was so horny. Mycroft also knew all the right places to touch her and wasn’t playing around the less sensitive areas like most men usually did (although in their case it was mostly due to ignorance).

 

“Oh, Mycroft.” She moaned, rolling her hips and sliding herself a little forward to try and increase the pressure. He responded by slipping two fingers inside, stroking her, and moving his lips upwards to suck on her clit. He continued to stimulate her until he brought her to the very edge and Anthea came with a long and drawn out moan of ecstasy as she rode the waves of pleasure. It had been so long since she had orgasmed like this. Mycroft sat up with a wide smile on his face, waiting for her to come down from her high. “That was incredible.” She breathed. 

 

“That was incredible, what?” Mycroft raised a cocky eyebrow. 

 

“That was incredible,  _ sir.”  _ She purred the last part, reaching forward to pull him to her from his loose tie. He complied and scooted his chair towards her, his face level with her breasts, since she was still sitting on the table. He kissed her at the top of her cleavage, trailing his lips up to her neck. She wrapped her legs around his back as he stood up to graze the skin under her ear with his lips. Mycroft picked her up again and sat her on the kitchen top, reaching back, he took hold of her ankles and spread her legs again. He looked up to see her smiling down at him wickedly and he had to admit that she took his breath away. 

 

“Oops.” She said, looking down at the front of his trousers. Mycroft looked down and saw a wet patch on the fabric just above his cock. “I’ll make sure to send that out for dry-cleaning in the morning…sir.” She punctuated. It was here that she noticed that she was practically naked while Mycroft was still wearing all of his clothes. She had to admit that she found it a bit sexy. Really she found everything about Mycroft Holmes sexy in one way or another. God knew how many times she had to lock herself in the office bathroom and work herself to an orgasm after he had shouted at someone or another. Most people found it rude for someone to admonish his employees in front of the whole office. But when Mycroft did it to some ditsy blonde or the half wit brunette at the office she found that it turned her on, and sometimes it was just too much. She knew Mycroft had known about the nature of her visits to the bathroom, but she wondered just how long he’d known. 

 

“No need to worry about it tonight, darling.” Mycroft waved off as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out. Anthea was happy to see that he was just as turned on by all this as she was. She could practically see the veins under her skin. Anthea slipped herself forward on the counter-top, resting just her butt-cheeks on the rounded edge. Mycroft took a half step towards her, still holding his bulging cock in hand, and lined it up with her entrance. He hooked his elbow under her knee, forcing her to lean back and support herself with her arms on the counter-top. “Would you like me to fuck your sweet pussy, Anthea?” He breathed low, articulating every syllable, into her ear. 

 

“Oh yes, sir!” Anthea whined enthusiastically. Mycroft steadied his footing and thrust forward into her, making her throw her head back as she moaned. The sound sent a pleasurable shiver through him as he pulled back out slowly and quickly thrust back into Anthea. She leaned forward and planted her lips to his, sucking on his tongue as he established a rhythm. They moaned into each other’s mouths as Mycroft found her sweet spot. It didn’t take long for him to bring her to the edge again. It was incredibly easy to pleasure Anthea when she wasn’t blocking his observations of her and he could tell exactly what she wanted. “Oh, yes, sir. Fuck me harder, sir.” Anthea begged as she felt herself nearing her climax. 

 

“Do you want to come now, Anthea?” Mycroft asked sweetly. He was definitely enjoying being in control of the situation. 

 

“Yes! Please, let me come, sir.” She screamed as he continued to plunge in and out of her. He wasn’t far from finishing himself either and he steadied his footing as he sped up. “Oh, Mycroft!” Anthea groaned as she felt herself get so close. She pulled on his tie, and he buried his face in her cleavage, using the tip of his tongue to stroke the taut skin over her breast bone, nipping at her collar bone. Anthea screamed as the force of her orgasm startled her. Mycroft let out a grunt which sounded like her name as he continued to bring himself closer to his own peak. Mycroft gripped the edge of the counter, steadying himself. Anthea lifted his chin from her breasts and kissed him deeply again as he spilt his hot juice inside her. He thoughtlessly bit down on Anthea’s bottom lip as he came and only realised when he tasted the hint of blood on his tongue. He released her lip quickly and pulled back to survey the damage. 

 

“I’m sorry darling. I don’t know what came over me.” He apologised, running his thumb over her swollen and bleeding lip. Anthea smiled and sucked his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and giving him an idea of how talented her muscle was. She was pleased to find that she could still taste herself on his finger. She looked him straight in the eyes, giving him a mischievous wink and smiling around his thumb. She could tell he was thinking what she wanted him to and could have sworn that she felt him growing hard again inside her. It was evident that any pain she might have felt in her lip was forgiven and forgotten. “I think it would be wiser if we moved this upstairs.” He suggested. 

 

Anthea released his thumb, a dribble of liquid falling from it and landing on her thigh, running down between her legs. “I’m a lot better in the bed itself,  _ sir _ .” She teased, placing her palms on his chest and running them along his shoulders and front. With all the confidence in the world Mycroft lifted her up, pulling  out of her and lowered her to stand on the floor. He playfully smacked her ass. “Show me.” He ordered. 

 

Anthea gave him one of her lopsided smiles and in a low voice said. “Only if you promise me that I’m your one and only  _ slut.” _ She said coquettishly. “Sir.” She added with a slight raise of her eyebrow when she remembered. 

 

Mycroft threw her a wicked grin and forced her close again. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, making sure that his voice alone turned her into a sopping mess. “Well then,  _ slut _ , get your  _ ass _ up to the  _ bedroom _ .” He said, articulating each stressed word with a sharp slap on her ass. “I’m going to want that beautiful mouth of yours around my cock.” He warned. Anthea nearly came right then and there, Hearing Mycroft talk dirty to her and calling her a slut had been one of her fantasies since her first week working with him. “Go on then, slut.” He said, releasing and pushing her forward with another sharp slap on her butt cheek. This one resonated around the kitchen. 

 

She could feel their juices spilling out of her and running down her thigh as she walked out of the kitchen and mounted the stairs. She briefly wondered if he would suck her clean. Anthea groaned as the fresh memory of him between her legs swarmed in her mind and made her grow wet again. Mycroft seemed to notice her train of thought and pulled her out of her reverie. 

 

“How about you crawl up the stairs, slut, so I can see that sweet pussy of yours.” He asked slipping two fingers inside her from behind. She didn’t think  twice about it, bending over and catching herself on the third stair. She would never be any body’s bitch but she would gladly crawl naked around the house all day and bend to his every whim if he asked her to. She bent her knees down, keeping them spread a little apart to allow him to see her wet cunt. Mycroft decided that he felt far too hot in his shirt, unbuttoned and threw it off somewhere in the living room. He stood back letting her get ahead of him so he could appreciate the view all that much better. With a wide smile on his face, he followed her up the stairs and along the upstairs hallway back to her bedroom. Anthea crawled over to the side of the bed and looked over her shoulder to see Mycroft walking through the door, admiring her position with a lean to the side of his head. She held her breath waiting for his next instructions. 

 

“Stand up and strip for me, slut.” Mycroft ordered as he closed the door behind him. Mycroft crossed the room and crashed their lips together again, before lying back down on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows looking up at his wife as she slipped the straps of the baby doll off her shoulders and let it fall around her ankles. Anthea picked up her phone from the nightstand and flipped through the playlists in her music player and found a particular one which was exceptionally suitable to the situation. She swayed her hips sensually to the music, running her hands over her body. She stepped forward and knelt on the edge of the mattress, over his lap. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, freeing her breasts and throwing the garment into the shadows, away from the reach of the low light of the bedside lamp. She continued to dance over him, continuously making eyes with him. Mycroft brought his knee up to gently press between her legs. He lowered his knee and sat up and covered her breasts with his hands, palming them and pinching her nipples between his fingers. She leaned into his touch with a moan and reached down between them to undo his belt. 

 

When he saw this, Mycroft flipped them over and backed off the bed to stand where she had been dancing a few minutes before. Anthea manoeuvred on the bed so that she was lying on her stomach and facing him. She continued to undo his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down to his knees along with his pants, completely freeing his prick. Mycroft toed his shoes off and bent down to get rid of his trousers, pants and socks, casting them away. She stroked his hard cock, spreading the drop of pre cum along his shaft. She took his balls in her other hand, massaging them gently, feeling the silky tickle of his hairs on her palm. She looked up at Mycroft, and smiled as she leaned in and gently licked the tip of his head, tasting herself on him. Mycroft thrust his hips forward, trying to push inside her mouth, but she was having none of that. Anthea held him in place with her left hand and licked down his shaft, first one side, then the other, then she kissed his groin and stroked him slowly from base to tip, her hand gliding over his moist skin easily.

 

She took the tip of his cock in her mouth and swirled her tongue around the head, making him feel weak at the knees. Then she leaned in further and took him as deep as she could go, opening her throat and licking the underside of his shaft as she sucked him in. 

 

“Anthea.” Mycroft moaned and grunted, his fingers knotting into her beautiful red curls and pulling them away from her face as she continued to bob her head on his cock. “Hmmm, yes. You are such a good girl, slut.” He praised. Anthea spread her legs behind her and arched her back, resulting in her ass rising up higher off the bed. Mycroft leaned forward and with his other hand, slipped two fingers inside her, running them between her cheeks and along her back, leaving behind a sticky trail of their cum. “Such a dirty slut, aren’t you?” Mycroft asked with a chuckle. 

 

“Yes, sir.” Anthea tried to say with his prick still in her mouth, which resulted in a hum and vibration around his cock. Mycroft moaned again, thrusting his hips forward a little. He wanted her to go faster. Using her hand she pumped his cock into her mouth. Anthea picked up speed, noisily. Still massaging his balls, she felt them tense up and pull close to his body. Oh no, she wasn't going to let him cum just yet. She eased out of sucking him and just held the tip of his cock in her mouth still teasing him with her left hand along his shaft, and pressing the width of the base. 

 

"You're driving me insane." He growled. 

 

“Maybe you should do something about that,  _ sir _ .” She purred teasingly. With another growl, Mycroft pulled back, slipped his hands under her arms and pushed her back on the bed into a half-sitting position as he crawled over her, pinning her arms over her head. 

 

“You’re the one that’s going to be doing the work, slut.” Mycroft chuckled into her ear. He flipped them over so that she was on top. She pushed herself up into a sitting position into his lap. He held her by the hips as she positioned her entrance over his cock and then, slowly lowered herself along his length, resulting in a loud groan out of the two of them. Anthea splayed her fingers over his chest, supporting herself as she started moving her hips back and forth, creating the friction they both so desperately needed. They moved together, Mycroft pumping into her sloppily and grunting while she ground into him roughly whimpering with pleasure. 

 

It didn’t take long for them to come together, collapsing into a breathless, sweaty but blissfully satisfied heap. Anthea laid her head into his shoulder and hummed pleasantly. Mycroft stroked her hair and kissed her languidly. He rolled over onto his side and they held each other in silence, the sounds of their breathing returning to a normal pace. Anthea was starting to doze off when Mycroft spoke up again. 

 

“I’ve never told you this, but I love you, Anthea.” Mycroft admitted quietly. 

 

Anthea pulled back to look at his face. She could always tell when Mycroft was outright lying, but she didn’t see any indication of that right now. “What?” She asked disbelievingly. 

 

“I have. For a long time, but I don’t…” He trailed off. 

 

“Shh.” Anthea stroked his cheek with her thumb. “I know. And I love you too.” She smiled. “I’ve loved you for a long time too.” She giggled. She felt like a secondary school girl again who had a crush on one of the local boys. 

 

Mycroft moved in closer and gave her a deep and affectionate kiss. They continued to plant lazy kisses all over each other’s faces until they both fell asleep in each other’s arms. 


	17. The Wheel Turns

“Hi Uncle Mike and Auntie Anthea.” Amanda shouted across the street as she spotted her aunt and uncle crossing over to their side. 

 

“Hello, sweetheart.” Anthea gushed, picking her niece up and spinning her around. 

 

“Wow, what’s got you so happy?” Molly asked Anthea. 

 

“Nothing in particular.” Anthea answered with a wink. “What about you? You look very smiley.” 

 

“Oh, just having a good day is all.” Molly waved off. 

 

“Right, I have the wine, shall we go?” Sherlock said, suddenly appearing next to her. 

 

“Wine picking isn’t really your natural talent, Paul. Perhaps you should let someone else choose.” Mycroft commented, showing his little brother his own bottle. 

 

“We can’t all have expensive wine collections,  _ Mike _ .” Sherlock spat. His brother was an annoying wine connoisseur.  

 

“That’s why you should leave it to those that do.” Mycroft countered with a sneer. 

 

“I think we better go before they start having a go at each other and ruin everyone’s night.” Molly whispered to Anthea as the redhead put Amanda down. 

 

“Come on, darling.” Anthea said in response, hooking her arm around Mycroft’s and pulling him away from his brother. 

 

“You too, Paul. John’s waiting.” Molly commented, repeating the action with her own husband. 

 

They walked the short distance to John and Mary’s house and knocked on the door before the brothers could start arguing on the choice of chocolates that the girls had picked out. 

 

John answered the door and welcomed them into their home, graciously accepting both bottles of wine without really looking at them. John greeted both women by leaning in and giving them a peck on each cheek, which they returned. 

 

“Hi John, where’s Mary?” Molly asked. 

 

“She’s in the kitchen.” John answered, closing the door and bending his knees to half kneel in front of Amanda. “Hey there, princess. Hannah’s up in her room if you wanna go up, we’ll call you down for dinner when it’s ready.” He told his god-daughter who hugged him before skipping off up the stairs next to her friend. 

 

Molly and Anthea entered the kitchen as Mary was finishing up at the stove. When Mary turned around to welcome her two best friends, she quickly read through their happy facades. Throwing the tea towel she had in her hands on the table she crossed the room, walked up to them until they were practically all three nose to nose (to nose) and said “You both got shagged last night.” In a low, accusatory whisper, making sure their husbands, who were still in the living room, couldn’t hear. 

 

Molly nodded happily, before realising that Mary was talking about both of them and turned to her best friend. “Wait, you and Mycroft did the thing?” She asked Anthea. 

 

“Not just any ‘thing’, Molly. Our dear Anthea did the nasty with the British Government.” Mary described with excitement. Just then John came in holding the bottles of wine and looking for a corkscrew. 

 

“Ladies, there’s wine in the living room if any of you want… What’s going on in here?” John said as he found the corkscrew and started hosting before turning around and seeing the three women giggling silently behind him. He smiled knowing that his wife was the mastermind, secretly hoping that he wasn’t the butt of her joke. 

 

“Oh nothing dear. The girls were just helping me with dinner. You go and get those two drunk before they start breaking things.” Mary directed. 

 

John was about to insist that he help with dinner while Molly and Anthea enjoyed themselves when he heard the beginning of one of Sherlock and Mycroft’s arguments. He rolled his eyes and shook his head before taking out the opened wine and three glasses. 

 

“Okay, spill. What happened?” Molly asked Anthea. 

 

“I got tired of waiting, put on my skimpiest lingerie and started teasing him.” Anthea described with a proud smile. 

 

“And you did the thing.” Molly summarised. Anthea bit her lower lip in only the least bit of embarrassment as she slowly held up two fingers. “Twice!?” Molly exclaimed and Mary guffawed. Anthea nodded happily. 

 

“Please tell me how you got the ice man to screw you twice in one night.” Mary joked. 

 

“Well, first he ate me out on the table, then we did it on the kitchen top, then he made me crawl upstairs, all good fun, you know, and after I blew him, I got to go on top.” Anthea went through the previous night’s events. 

 

Molly’s jaw dropped and Mary stood there fanning herself, both with wide silly grins on their faces. 

 

“Did you slip something into his food or drink?” Mary asked disbelievingly. 

 

“No. That’s not all of it. After the mind-blowing orgasms we both had, he told me he loved me. That he has for a long time.” Anthea ended.

 

“Now I really do need a glass of wine.” Mary commented as she went to the counter where John had left the second bottle, opened it and poured three generous glasses of wine, handing one to each to her friends. “Now, what about you? What happened after John left yours?” She asked Molly, pointing to the hand where she still had the back slightly covered in a bandage. 

 

“Well this is thanks to a cockroach crawling on my hand. I scalded and scratched it.” Molly told them, skipping over the horrifying parts because they both knew about her phobia and the original event that caused it. “After John left we put Amanda to bed and then I asked him if he would sleep in my room because I know I wasn’t going to get any sleep.” She took a sip of wine before breaking out into a mischievous smile and going on. “And then, well, let’s just say I got extremely horny when he got into bed with me. I told him so, and that he was my husband and practically demanded that he screw me.” 

 

“Well, he’s made a number of ridiculous demands from you throughout the years. It’s only fair that you make a reasonable one of him now.” Anthea reasoned, sipping on her drink. 

 

“He certainly payed me back for all of them last night.” Molly said into her glass. 

 

“What did he do?” Mary asked curiously. 

 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, but I made him beg. Three times.” Molly said proudly. 

 

“I know a couple of people who would be jealous of you right now.” Anthea commented with a wink. 

 

“Really because I don’t know any, they especially wouldn’t be jealous of what he said to me next.” Molly said feigning misery. 

 

“What did that bastard do now?” Mary asked defensively. 

 

“I swear to god, I will skin him alive, if he hurt you Molls.” Anthea threatened. 

 

“It’s nothing bad. But thank you. No, he said he wanted us to try and make this work…properly… as in, be really married to each other and raising Amanda together and the house and everything.” Molly explained slowly, hardly believing it herself. 

 

“What?” Her friends asked disbelievingly but happy for her all the same. 

 

“Yeah. He said that he didn’t ask me to marry him just because Amanda backed him into a corner about the case. And that it would be a shame to simply stop being married after the case was over.” 

 

“Oh what an idiot. He didn’t even say he loved you.” Anthea said, just a tiny bit disappointed for Molly. 

 

“It’s okay. Then I said that the house is much more comfortable for all of us than Baker Street and that we wouldn’t be able to get Amanda to move back so we’re agreed on everything. We’re staying exactly as we are right now.” Molly announced plainly. 

 

“The girls will love that. And John, practically living with his best friend again. And that means I need to properly show you around the neighbourhood. All the best stores and cafes, you know the drill. It’s about time I repaid the favour for when you did it to me my first time in London, proper.” Mary said. 

 

“Congratulations Moll.” Anthea toasted. “You’re finally getting everything you ever wanted.” She hugged Molly tightly, biting her lip and deciding that her news could wait till later if need be. It was Molly’s chance to be happy. 

 

John popped his head around the corner. “Are we planning on eating anytime this century?” He asked his wife. 

 

“Yes, all right we’re coming, go get the girls from upstairs.” Mary told her husband, turning away to get the dishes and plate the food. 

 

The conversation at dinner was a varied one, ranging from the case at hand, to dresses and shoes, back to murder, in general, and other little anecdotes. After dessert the girls went upstairs while the adults (and Sherlock and Mycroft) moved to the living room. Sherlock and Mycroft started bickering again and Anthea turned to Mycroft. 

 

“Will you two stop bickering for two minutes?” She demanded, sounding like an exhausted mother. Molly rolled her eyes at Sherlock who only smiled and winked at her. Mycroft started to defend himself but Anthea countered by holding up her hand in front of her face. “Myc, if you don’t stop picking fights with your little brother, I’ll tell everyone.” Anthea said simple. Molly could see the impish smile on Anthea’s face and knew exactly what it meant.

 

“Tell us what?” Molly asked her excitedly. Anthea looked up at Mycroft and he gave up, motioning for her to go ahead and announce the news. 

 

“Myc proposed last night. We’re getting married.” She told her friends, pulling the ring out from under her round neckline top where it secretly hung from a chain.

 

“What? Why didn’t you call me up the minute it happened?” Molly demanded with a beaming smile, taking the ring between her fingers and examining it. The silver band was set with pave diamonds all around and came up in four small triangles which were lined in the same manner, the central cushion cut diamond rested in the middle of the four triangles and was surrounded by another four clusters of diamonds which made the whole thing look like a blooming rose of diamonds. “Mycroft, the ring is beautiful.” Molly complimented. Mycroft only nodded in response, he knew he had chosen well.

 

“We were a little busy. And besides it’s no big deal.” Anthea waved off. 

 

“No big deal!? Annie, you’re my best friend and you’re getting married of course it’s a big deal.” Molly insisted, using her friends old nickname from when they were children. 

 

“Since when is she your best friend?” Sherlock asked incredulously. For as long as he had known the two women, he had never seen any indication that they had even known each other. Then again he didn’t really know much about Anthea. 

 

“Sherlock, Anthea and I have been best friends since we were about five years old. We went to the same schools for seventeen years.” Molly explained. 

 

“And even then we only split up because you wanted to go to medical school and I went to the ‘academy’” Anthea continued, forming air quotes as she mentioned her last school. “How else do you think I could have pulled off Molly’s perfect day in a month?” Sherlock didn’t say a word, and neither did Mycroft for that matter who was just as flabbergasted as his brother that Molly and Anthea were apparently the best of friends. 

 

“Which reminds me, I hope you don’t have anyone else in mind for a wedding planner. I’m taking care of everything and I won’t take no for an answer.” Molly insisted. “I still have to pay you back for what you did on our wedding day.” She continued, throwing a smile at Sherlock. 

 

“Molls, there’s no one else who could plan my wedding, even if they wanted to. And you’re the only one who’ll put up with being my maid of honour.” Anthea reassured. 

 

“If you’re such good friends, then why weren’t you Molly’s maid of honour at her wedding?” Mycroft piped up curiously. 

 

“Mostly because you weren’t best man. Anthea and Mary were both my maids-of-honour while we were planning but on the day it seemed only right to let Anthe stand with you and Mary with John.” Molly explained to her brother-in-law. 

 

“Well, I don’t know about you but I think a round of champagne is in order.” John said suddenly having come back from the kitchen with a bottle and a few glasses. Mary was following him with the remaining champagne flutes. 

 

“Oh, and Molly told us about you staying on the lane. So, I suppose congratulations are in order for you two as well.” Anthea told Sherlock. 

 

“Thank you, Anthea.” Sherlock told her, taking a glass of champagne from Molly, who came to stand next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Sherlock copied her actions and pulled her closer for a peck on her lips. John handed out the rest of the champagne flutes and they raised a toast to Anthea and Mycroft. 


	18. Wanton Spirits

Sherlock awoke early next morning and drove back into London because Lestrade insisted that he couldn’t solve his latest case without Sherlock’s help. In the meantime, Molly got Amanda ready to go on a trip to the zoo with John, Mary, and Hannah. She would have joined in but having the whole house to herself meant that she could catch up on some housework which required no family underfoot. 

 

As soon as she waved Amanda off Molly went back into the house and started on the clean-up, beginning with the large chest fridge that Sherlock kept in the basement which was reserved for body parts and experiments. She wasn’t easily nauseated but this particular task was disgusting, especially when Sherlock got bored with an experiment and, as he tended to do, simply left the parts to decompose in the fridge. He never admitted it though. He would lie and say that it was for another experiment, but really how many experiments did the man need to carry out in decomposition rates and fungal bacteria manifestation?

 

After she finished that particular task, she took a shower from head to toe, making sure to remove any trace of his experiments from her body. As she got dressed she noticed that the laundry basket was dangerously close to overflowing. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, given that Sherlock had taken to washing up in the master bathroom. He particularly enjoyed washing up while she was in the bathroom and it had resulted, as was his plan in the first place, in them having sex in the bathroom twice now. 

 

She decided that laundry would be her next task and set about emptying the hampers in the bed- and bath-rooms of the house. She put in a full load of whites before going back upstairs to check Sherlock’s old bedroom for any clothes he might have left lying around. 

 

She couldn’t help but feel like she was intruding, since she had never been in there and only ever opened the door to let Toby sneak in. Now she was curious to see what he was hiding in here, knowing that he at least had a set of handcuffs which he now kept in the bedside cabinet on his side of the bed. Molly instinctively tutted when she saw that his bed hadn’t been made since his last night spent in here. She decided to strip the bed of his sheets and make it up again with fresh ones. She smiled as she felt the navy silken fabric between her fingers as she had always loved the idea of dark coloured sheets on a bed. And silk ones were even better. Molly really liked Sherlock’s taste in fabrics and colours, it was his sense of decorating that needed a little work however. 

 

It was as she was finishing up the bed that Sherlock arrived back home and silently climbed up the stairs looking for his wife. He found her in his room, humming to herself as she tucked the edges of a new set of the navy silk under the mattress. He had to let out a silent chuckle as he saw her briefly bringing the pillow up to her nose and sniffing it, finding that even the fresh sheets smelled of him. He knocked on the half-open door, breaking her out of her reverie. He startled her and she bolted around but broke out into a smile when she saw it was him. A slight blush gathered in her cheeks as she came around the bed and threw her arms around his neck, planting her lips on his for a deep kiss. 

 

“Is this how you plan on greeting me every time I get back from a case? Because, if so, I should go away more often.” Sherlock laughed exuberantly.

 

Molly kissed him again before answering. “Maybe it is, love. How was your case?” She asked knowing that he enjoyed retelling how he outsmarted the criminal. 

 

“It was a 6. They’re the most disappointing of all.” Sherlock sighed. 

 

“Oh? How so?” Molly asked, cocking her head to the side. 

 

Sherlock went to the side of the bed and flopped back miserably before explaining. “Because they always look so promising in the beginning. I actually thought this one might be a ten, it’s been so long since I had those, but then the murderer’s motive was so simple, there wasn’t any way it couldn’t be him, which is why I’m back so early. He didn’t even have enough backbone to keep denying it for a while longer. He got scared the minute he saw the police and confessed.” Sherlock sighed again. “What were you doing here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at her and picking up one of the pillow as an indication. 

 

“Oh, I was cleaning up. I think someone let a pig loose in here and he made a mess of things.” She joked with a wink as she knelt on the bed next to him before flopping down. She stretched out on the bed, luxuriating in the feel of the sheets against her bare shoulders as she was only wearing a camisole and yoga pants.

 

Sherlock chuckled at her. “I think you’ve discovered why I like to walk around in nothing but a sheet. Maybe you’d like to try it out for yourself?” Sherlock suggested, untying the bow at the front of her yoga pants. Molly allowed Sherlock to undress her, and he did so slowly, caressing her body with his lips. When she was finally laying completely naked on top of the bed, Sherlock pulled out a new sheet from a drawer and covered her with it, pulling Molly into a sitting position and wrapping the sheet around her. “Go ahead, take a walk in it and see how it feels.” Molly listened to him, prancing around the room in nothing but a sheet, giggling at the look he was giving her. 

 

“So?” Sherlock prodded. 

 

“I feel like a Greek goddess.” She announced, pouncing on top of the bed again and wrapping her arms around him. He had gone ahead and taken everything but his trousers off. Without breaking Molly’s kiss, he shucked them off. Pulling at the sheet that was underneath her to get it out and wrap it around himself. Molly dug her knees further down into the mattress. “I said I feel like a Greek goddess. And every goddess needs a naked slave boy, don’t you think?” She tittered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow silently at her before giving her one of his lopsided smirks. He stood up, making her reach up to kiss him. Sherlock advantage of her imbalance and pulled the sheet out from under her, making her fall back on her ass. She laughed despite her irritation as she bounced up and down on the mattress. He wrapped the sheet around his hips and jumped up on the bed next to her. 

 

They lazed about on the bed in nothing but the sheets for a while, kissing and tickling each other, giggling and laughing. Molly had never seen Sherlock so carefree and cheerful, and she had a feeling it had something to do with the room. 

 

“You know, it’s a pity this place is going to waste.” Molly commented. 

 

“We don’t have to let it go to waste.” Sherlock suggested. “We could do something with it.” 

 

“What would we do with it?” Molly wondered. 

 

“We could keep it as a personal little playroom.” Sherlock offered, trailing the tips of his fingers along the inside of one of Molly’s thighs. 

 

“You mean… a sex room?” Molly cocked an eyebrow at her husband. 

 

“I was thinking more along the lines…” Sherlock started, supporting himself on all fours and crawling over Molly’s reclined body. “… of a sex  _ dungeon _ .” He growled into her ear before taking her lobe gently between his teeth and carefully pulling on it. 

 

The very idea sent a shiver of excitement through her. “What would we use it for?” Molly teased. 

 

“Well the general use of a sex dungeon, Molly, is to have sex in.” Sherlock explained slowly, questioning her intelligence with a look. 

 

“Yes, I know that. But a sex dungeon is generally used by those that have…a… _ particular _ …kink.” Molly said slowly. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“And you…like…that sort of thing?” Molly questioned, picking up on his hints. 

 

“Well… it depends…what sort…”

 

“Sherlock.” Molly warned, she hated when he avoided the subject with big words and long sentences rather than spitting it out. 

 

“There are various things that interest me, and…” 

 

“Sherlock.” 

 

“Yes, alright, Molly, I have a kink for BDSM.” Sherlock surrendered, starting to blush furiously. 

 

“Anything particularly interesting?” Molly asked, suddenly very interested but, more importantly she wanted to reassure him that she didn’t find it embarrassing one bit. 

 

Sherlock kissed her. He was relieved to know that Molly didn’t judge him on his sexual preferences as others had done before her. He nibbled down at her neck before he answered her. “I’m particularly fond of intricate bonds…among other things.” He teased. 

 

“Do you have a secret stash?” Molly wondered. It was more her poking fun at him. 

 

“Yes.” Sherlock answered slowly, avoiding her eyes. 

 

“Show me.” Molly told him enthusiastically. 

 

“Really?” Sherlock asked, searching her expression for any indication that she was joking or mocking him. 

 

“Yes really. I already know you like to touch yourself when you’re thinking of me. No doubt you’ve imagined me doing one of these things and I would like to know what they are.” Molly responded, innocently enough. 

 

“Alright.” Sherlock acquiesced before he pushed himself off the bed and went to the side, crouching next to it and reaching underneath the bed. He pulled out a beautiful wooden box with inlay designs and engravings and turned it the opening side towards Molly almost reverently. Molly ran her fingers over the lid, tracing the engraved border and the inlaid designs. 

 

“Did you make this yourself?” Molly wondered, remembering the conversation she’d had with Catherine before her wedding. 

 

“Yes. How did you know?” Sherlock asked curiously. 

 

“Catherine mentioned that you’re ridiculously talented at woodwork. It’s beautiful. And locked.” Molly noticed, tapping the lock at the front. 

 

“Ah yes.” Sherlock remembered and turned to his bedside table and pulled a key out of the top drawer. “Here, this is yours to keep.” 

 

“What are you talking about, it’s your box.” Molly asked incredulously. 

 

“It’s a box of secrets. And I want none when it comes to you. It’s the same box that once held what I needed to keep-up my drug habits.” He confessed. 

 

Molly reached out and cupped his face in her hands. “You know I won’t let you fall back into that, right? Not that you will.” She reassured, stroking his face with her thumb. “You’re far too strong for that.” 

 

“No I’m not. But I love you and Amanda far too much to do that to myself again. I know I’m lucky to have both of your love and it would hurt you if I did anything destructive.” He acknowledged with a sad smile. He took her hand in his and kissed her palm tenderly. She pulled her hands away and leaned over to kiss him on the lips. 

 

She unlocked the box and lifted the lid to reveal a collection that surpassed her wildest dreams. There were metres upon metres of different coloured silk ropes of varying thicknesses. Molly picked up a velvet blindfold in one hand and a ball gag in the other with a raised eyebrow at her husband. 

 

He only threw her a challenging look, practically begging her to put them on. She put the accessories down and continued to rummage in the box. She found a flogger and a collar, some lovely chains, leather gloves, lube, a riding crop (thankfully she could recognise it as different from the one he sometimes used for cases) and ankle cuffs. Molly took everything out, one by one, quickly inspecting each item before setting it aside on the bed and moving on to the next one. Now the only thing left in the box were four dice, two white, two black. One of the white dice had the usual six sides while the other had nine, as for the black ones, one also had six and the other twelve. Molly turned each one between her fingers, wanting to know what each side said. She started with the black twelve sided one, which had little figures drawn on each side, all in different sex positions. The black six sided dice had different body parts mentioned. Pussy/Cock. Breasts/Balls. Ass. Toes. Nipples. Mouth. The white six sided dice had accessories: Clothes On. Clothes Off. Ball Gag. Blindfold. Handcuffs. Rope. While the white nine sided dice had actions such as Lick. Suck. Tickle. Eat. Finger. Slap. Fuck. Bite. Kiss. Molly had to steady her breathing which had become very heavy as her mind raced through all the possible combinations. 

 

“These are incredibly fun.” Sherlock said with a wicked smile taking three of the dice from Molly, leaving only the twelve sided one untouched. He rolled them in his closed fist before throwing them into the box. Molly looked down to see the result. Blindfold. Suck. Nipples. Sherlock chuckled “Rule Number One. The dice are law. Never go against the dice, or the other player has the right to punish you anyway they want.” He explained. “So, first I do this.” He said as he picked up the blindfold and covered her eyes with it. Suddenly all her senses were heightened and she shivered in excitement, letting out a breathy giggle. She felt Sherlock pull at the sheet somewhere near her chest and leaned into his touch. She inhaled a deep sharp breath as the cool air caressed the front of her body. Suddenly all sign that Sherlock was with her was gone. It was silent and he wasn’t touching her and she couldn’t even hear him breathe. She wanted to reach out and try to feel him but, then again, she hadn’t heard him leave either so she let her anticipation rise, biting on her lower lip. Without any warning, she felt Sherlock’s tongue running over her right nipple and his lips close over the tip of her breast. He worked his mouth over the area for a good five minutes, working her nipple until it got stiff, before moving on to the other one and repeating the process. Molly felt like a puddle on the floor by the time he finished and wasn’t sure if she could handle much more teasing. Sherlock undid the blindfold and, after adjusting her eyes to the light, she saw him with a terrible smirk plastered on his face, and she was determined to wipe it off. 

 

“So, before we continue, do you have any of your own toys?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

 

“Oh.” Molly beamed as she’d nearly forgotten all about her own box. She made a mad dash to her room and back, quickly finding the box at the top of her closet and coming back, closing the door behind her. She found Sherlock waiting on the bed, still wrapped in his sheet, his arms folded behind his neck and a smug expression on his face. Molly could see that he was already incredibly hard under the sheet. She sat on the edge of the bed and handed the black velvet box to him. Sherlock opened it carefully and gave her a questioning look upon seeing the contents. He mimicked her earlier actions and set the box down on the bed, and took out each item as he perused them. Molly realised that all his things had been put away back in their box, but that it was still lying open on the bed next to him. 

 

He started by pulling out her vibrating egg and the matching pink controller which looked like a little iPod. Then he started going through the array of dildos and vibrators she had, turning them on and switching through the different settings before turning them off and putting them aside again. Molly opened the box regularly, but it was only now, as Sherlock went through her items one by one that she realised how much of them she had. It was rather silly really, she had started buying toys way back when she was still in her first month at college and had never thrown anything away as she ‘upgraded’ from one toy to another. She still used most of them from time to time, keeping her playtime varied and fresh. Sherlock’s expression remained somewhat neutral throughout his investigations, although she knew that he was finding something revealing about her with every toy he pulled out. When the top compartment had been completely emptied, he moved on to the small drawer beneath. What he saw there made his eyes grow wide and Molly sucked in her bottom lip, nervously awaiting his comments.

 

“Oh, please tell me these are your favourite.” Sherlock hummed as he pulled out a matching set consisting of a butt plug and a string of anal beads. 

 

Molly visibly relaxed as she realised that Sherlock was turned on with the idea rather than disgusted. She rose on her knees and shuffled closer to him. “Well, I’m not sure if they’re my favourite…yet.” Molly teased with a wink. 

 

“I think I might need to roll those dice again.” Sherlock murmured as he reached into his box looking for the plastic shapes. 

 

“Before you do.” Molly started stopping his hand by placing hers on on top of it. “How about you show me a couple of rope tricks?” She suggested.

 

Sherlock moved his fingers off the dice and around a roll of rope, quickly dumping Molly’s toys back in her box and shoving it aside. He pulled her forward by her wrist and arranged her position so that she was kneeling back on her heels in front of him. He uncurled the rope from around itself, running it between his closed fists. Molly had to admit that the shiny red material was titillating and she couldn’t wait until it was around her. Sherlock decided that for her first time a simple, yet effective knot would suffice and that, depending on how Molly reacted, they could quickly progress to more complex arrangements. 

 

“Close your fists and hold them out in front of you, spread them apart a little, don’t hold them together.” Sherlock instructed. Molly did as she was told while holding her breath in anticipation. Sherlock laid the centre of the rope across her wrists and wrapped each end of the rope around her wrists. He then crossed the ends under the wraps and started wrapping the rope around itself between her wrists before making a knot at the centre of it all. Sherlock moved behind Molly and pulled the two lengths of rope up to her neck, being very careful to not strain her wrists towards her body. Molly groaned in pleasure as his fingers ran along her neck and she heard Sherlock chuckle at her reaction. He made another knot at the base of her throat before pulling each end at either side of her neck and tying one final knot behind it, letting the remainder dangle along her back. He leaned forward and kissed her under her ear and down along her neck and shoulder as he reached forward and grabbed the dice back. 

 

“Let’s see what fate has in store for you, darling.” Sherlock growled as he shook the dice in his fist and threw them on the bed in front of Molly. She closed her eyes in eagerness as she saw the result.


	19. In the Family Way

Once Molly and Sherlock finished up the room it was hard for them to keep their hands to themselves and off of each other. They were practically trying one thing or another every night. Molly even found that Sherlock knew how to excite her when she was on her menstrual cycle and, according to her rules, he couldn’t touch her anywhere below the waist or above her knees. She, of course, could still give him her killer blow jobs which she found he enjoyed very much, despite insisting that he could resist her if he wanted to. He had yet to prove his resistance. 

 

As the days went on, Molly started to wonder when Mycroft would bring the case to a close, since there didn’t seem to be any development of any sort. The only suspicious thing about Eric Bailey was that he kept spying on her and even that had decreased in frequency as the summer passed by. It was already nearing the third week of August and Molly was starting to nag at the Holmes brothers to tell her what would be happening since she needed to enrol Amanda into school. Even though she and Sherlock had originally agreed to stay on the lane and they both loved their current house, and Molly was sure that when it came to Amanda’s education Mycroft would pull all the strings that he could, which was quite a lot. However she still needed to know if Amanda would be listed as Chambers or Holmes and how this would affect everything in a year, or two, or five. Mycroft and Sherlock may have had a tendency to live in the moment and take care of the immediate task at hand but she did not, and she was not about to start living a masquerade all because Mycroft wanted his stupid case solved. 

 

The heat of the summer must have also been getting to her. A heat wave had struck the country in the last days and Molly’s health had reacted badly to it. She had started throwing up again and it was so bad that she was reminded of the stomach flu she had had a few months before, way back before all of this had started. She smiled to herself as she remembered the night at the club and Sherlock’s ‘fake’ proposal which only turned out to be very real indeed. The smile only lasted until she got up from where she was sitting and had to rush over to the bathroom again. She had also started to get dizzy spells and would frequently have to drop everything mid-task and sit down until the bad turn had passed. 

 

On one particular night, she sat in her armchair going through all the requirements Amanda needed to get into the same private school as Hannah as Sherlock put her to bed. As she sat typing on her laptop, Sherlock could tell that Molly was close to nodding off on her computer and decided that she had done more than enough work for one day. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulder, carefully digging his fingers in and applying pressure in all the right places. Molly groaned as he found the knot in between her shoulder blades and rested her head back as he massaged her. 

 

“Love, would you mind if we just cuddled tonight? I’m knackered.” She yawned. 

 

“Of course.” Sherlock said as he bent down to kiss her. “You read my mind.” He came round the front, picked up her laptop and put it on the nearby coffee table before bending down and scooping her up in his arms. He carried her all the way to their bedroom where she demanded to be let down so she could get ready for bed. Sherlock acquiesced and started getting ready himself before slipping into bed and waiting for her to join him. She had another bad turn and rushed over to the bathroom. He sighed as he heard her throwing up again and made a mental note to have her to talk to John about it in the morning. He started running through all her symptoms in his head, trying to find a logical diagnosis. 

 

Molly came back out to the room as he was thinking and crossed over to the dresser to pull out a fresh pair of pyjamas. Sherlock looked over at her to observe her physicality. One of the symptoms was fatigue and he looked to see if she had lost any weight as well. He couldn’t see any major changes, although there was something that seemed a little strange to him. Something stood out and it was like he suddenly had an epiphany. He kept watching Molly as she undressed and changed into her nightwear before settling down in bed next to him. A part of him told him that he should probably leave it for tonight but he truly was curious to know. He turned to her and asked bluntly. 

 

“Molly, when was your last period?” He knew. He had been keeping track of her menstrual cycle for years now, learning through experience that it was best to keep his distance from her when she was in a heightened emotional state. At the same time however he didn’t want to believe the deduction he’d just made. Molly looked up at him, quickly picking up on what he was insinuating. She turned to her bedside drawer and pulled out a diary, flipping the page over to her yearly planner where she marked all her dates. 

 

“It can’t be.” She muttered, more to herself than Sherlock. He looked over to find the latest little red ‘x’ in her calendar and confirmed what he had been thinking. She looked at him with a blank expression. That really was the only way to explain her emotion right now. Blank. She wasn’t happy or scared, she just looked at him. 

 

“Do you really think that…?” She asked nervously. Finally a hint of emotion on her face. It made Sherlock relax a little bit. 

 

“All the symptoms are there.” Sherlock said. “Even…” He reached out and placed an open hand flat on her abdomen where he had seen the most minuscule indication of a bump just moments before. Molly looked down at where his hand was and placed hers on top. 

 

“Is this something you want?” She asked him. 

 

“Well, it’s not something I don’t want. At least this time his or her mother would be around.” He reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her back. 

 

Molly finally let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she was holding in. She turned to Sherlock and threw her arms around his neck, before pulling him down to kiss him. Sherlock managed to adjust their positions so that they were both lying down in bed, placing his hand back on the little bump. Molly giggled and Sherlock was glad that she was finally showing a positive emotion to the news.

 

“You should go ahead and take a test tomorrow.” He suggested. 

 

“Why? I’ve already married the most accurate pregnancy test in the world.” She teased before burying her face into his chest and falling asleep, dreaming of little boys that looked like him. 

*****

The next morning Molly woke up long before Sherlock and when she couldn’t get back to sleep she figured that there was no use lying around in bed. She got up and changed, went downstairs, had breakfast and made the two calls that she needed to make. When she had finished her tasks for the morning and Sherlock still hadn’t woken up she decided to leave him a note on the fridge. 

 

_ Gone to London. Running Errands. Be Back Soon. Xxx Ainsley.  _

 

She was going to write Molly but then remembered that if someone just happened to go through their trash and find something like this, it might blow their cover. She called a cab to pick her up and closed the door behind her as she left. 

 

*****

 

When Sherlock woke up alone in bed all his warning signals went off. In a flash he was up, changing into one of his suits one handed while he dialled his brother’s number with the other. He cursed after every ring, willing Mycroft to pick up the phone. Sherlock was about to hang up and go over there when his brother finally answered. 

 

“Good Morning, brother dear.” Mycroft answered lazily. He sounded content but Sherlock had no time to deduce why. 

 

“Myc, code red. Molly’s missing.” Sherlock briefed as he put on one arm of his shirt and then switched phone hands to shove on the other. 

 

“How long?” Mycroft asked. 

 

“I don’t know. I was asleep. When I woke up she was gone.” Sherlock crossed the room back to the bed and slipped his hand under the covers, feeling the temperature. “I estimate somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half, given the temperature of her side of the bed.” 

 

“I’m on my way, don’t touch anything, and don’t do anything rash, Sherlock.” Mycroft ordered before he hung up. 

 

Sherlock finished dressing and started pacing the room when he realised that he couldn’t filter through the evidence in the room. He kept imagining blood on the pillow case but it was actually the printed rose of the sheet. Mycroft was standing next to him just over a minute later, and Anthea with him. Upon seeing Sherlock, Mycroft was absolutely floored when he saw the state that his brother was in. He could see his very sanity unravelling with worry and Sherlock looked extremely close to being physically sick. Mycroft stepped over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place and offering support at the same time. Mycroft turned to stand in front of Sherlock, blocking his view of the room. Sherlock nearly broke down when he saw his brother. 

 

“Myc, what if they hurt her? What if they….” He trailed off, stopping himself before he could start thinking the worst. What if he never got to hold her in his arms again? 

 

“We’ll find her Sherlock.” Mycroft reassured. “Anthea, take him downstairs and try to calm him down.” Anthea nodded and did as Mycroft said. Once in the hallway however, Sherlock turned down and walked over to Amanda’s room, throwing the door in, looking for his daughter. She wasn’t there. Her room was just as messy as it always was but the bed was unmade, which was strange. He started shaking and if it hadn’t been for Anthea physically supporting him he would have collapsed to the floor. 

 

“Sherlock, Molly’s with her okay. She’ll protect Amanda with her life and it might be why they both come back unharmed. Molly’s a very strong woman, she’ll fight back. She won’t take anything lying down and she certainly won’t let anyone harm a hair on Amanda, you know that.” Anthea soothed. Mycroft appeared next to them, taking in the sight before him and coming to the same conclusion as Sherlock. 

 

“There’s no sign of forced entry or kidnapping in the master bedroom. Anthea get him out of here.” Was all Mycroft said, before he entered Amanda’s room and started looking around. Anthea led Sherlock down the stairs and had to push him into an armchair. He regained some composure when he saw the laptop sitting on the coffee table and she passed it to him, thinking that he would calm down if he just had something to do, if he was actively looking for his family. Anthea pulled out her phone and started making all the necessary arrangements which she knew Mycroft would be asking for any second now. Sure enough she heard him coming down the stairs, phone pressed to his ear, talking to the same person she had just sent a message to. As she pressed the send button again she realised that her hands were shaking and she took a deep breath to steady herself, before moving on with her work. It wouldn’t do her friend any good if she was a wreck. They worked quietly for a few minutes, Sherlock starting to flip through nearby security footage that Mycroft had already commandeered and sent directly to him, Anthea checking on suspects’ last known locations and Mycroft trying to get his brother, Q, to hack into Molly’s phone and get her location. But it was taking time. Everything was taking time and as Sherlock clicked away on Molly’s computer he was starting to think that all the hopes and dreams they had had the night before would be killed by a mad-man. 

 

Suddenly Amanda and Hannah walked into the living room from the back garden. 

 

“Is mummy back yet? She promised me ice cream.” Amanda asked the adults in the room, recognising the air surrounding a case. 

 

Sherlock didn’t even realise that it was his daughter who spoke because he could only see Hannah from the corner of his eyes. “There’s ice-cream in the freezer.” He barked aggressively and automatically. 

 

Without looking up from his phone, Mycroft went to the kitchen and stood in front of the freezer about to open it up. It was then that Amanda’s words, and her voice, registered with Sherlock and he got up and followed her into the kitchen where she and Hannah had followed Mycroft. 

 

“Sherlock, is it possible that Molly simply went to London to run some errands?” Mycroft asked, blinking rapidly at the yellow post it on the fridge. 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Myc, I think I would know if my wife simply went to Lond-” Sherlock started as he walked into the kitchen. Mycroft turned around suddenly, taking the note with him. He didn’t realise but he blocked Amanda out of his brother’s view as he shoved the paper in front of his face. 

 

Sherlock stared at it for a moment. “Oh.” He said. His body was still in shock and riddled with adrenaline to recognise relief. 

 

“She told me she was going to London when I woke up. Where did you think she was?” Amanda said peering out from behind her uncle’s legs. 

 

Seeing her little face kick-started Sherlock’s mind again. He collapsed to his knees and pulled her into a hug. It was the tightest hug he had ever given anyone or anything ever in his life. Amanda tried to struggle out of the embrace because she couldn’t breathe and Sherlock allowed it, keeping her face in his hands as his eyes raked over it, making absolutely sure that she was alright. 

 

“What’s wrong daddy?” She asked with a smile. 

 

“Nothing.” He answered, a little sheepishly as he realised that his brother was still fuming at his ridiculousness. He kissed her forehead and pulled her close to him again, this time careful not to suffocate her. 

 

She pulled on his shirt collar, which he now realised he had worn inside out, and he looked down at her. “I want ice cream.” She said. 

 

“Me too, please.” Hannah piped up innocently. 

 

“Yes of course.” Sherlock agreed as he shakily stood up again, opened the freezer and brought the ice cream out for the girls. Amanda handed him the ice cream scoop while Hannah brought out two bowls. Mycroft held the cabinet door open and pulled out another one. After Sherlock had served the two girls and they ran back out into the garden with the their bowls and spoons, Mycroft offered him a bowl of his own, angrily. 

 

“I suggest you take some yourself and cool down, Sherlock!” He exclaimed. “Do you have any idea…” Mycroft started to chide as Anthea joined them in the kitchen. Sherlock held up a hand and stopped his brother. 

 

“I know, I was foolish and jumped to the wrong conclusion far too quickly. But given the circumstances -” 

 

“That is precisely why you should tell Molly about everything!” Mycroft exploded. “If she had known about the threats than she wouldn’t have left in the first place! Or at the very least she would have had the common sense to wake you up and tell you where she was going before you had the entire national guard deployed to ensure her safe return! I warned you that if I felt this was getting out of hand I would tell her myself, and so help me, I will do it tonight.” 

 

Sherlock had no idea what to say. For once, his brother was absolutely right (oh how it pained his mind to even think it.) and he was being utterly foolish. 

 

“Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” Anthea asked calmly with crossed arms and her eyebrows raised at Mycroft. 

 

“Sherlock has been receiving anonymous letters telling him to ‘back off or we’ll hurt your family’ since we started this case.” Mycroft admitted to Anthea. The first one had arrived the morning after their wedding and while Sherlock had put some distance between himself and Molly the letters had almost ceased, not that they had reconciled however the letters started coming back with increased frequency. Sherlock had informed Mycroft the moment the first letter arrived while Molly was in the shower of that hotel room and he had been taking care of it discreetly ever since. He hadn’t even told Anthea because he knew she and Molly were ‘buddies’. He had no idea of course that they were actually best friends. Anthea stepped closer, calmly, as if she were mulling over what Mycroft had just told her. Sherlock stood there scooping up ice cream with his spoon and shovelling it into his mouth. The coolness of the treat was refreshing and actually did help to calm him. Suddenly Anthea’s hand flew across Mycroft’s cheek with a hard slap, leaving a red mark behind. 

 

“Don’t you ever dare keep anything like this from me, ever again.” Anthea scolded him, pointing a finger. 

 

“Anthea! I have been keeping a close eye on the situation since the wedding, and the only positive thing that would have come from me informing you would have been that you would have told Molly from the onset.” Mycroft accused. 

 

“I would not have told Molly, especially not if either of you would have specifically asked me not to.” She finished, obviously hurt that he hadn’t confided in her. 

 

“I’m sorry. As it is, she needs to know. Immediately.” Mycroft turned to his brother. 

 

“She does not. Mycroft if I tell her than she will compromise my cover.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“He’s right.” Anthea said. “Mycroft he’s right, Molly wouldn’t be able to handle thinking that she was being stalked. It’s bad enough as it is already.” Both Sherlock and Mycroft turned to her with questioning looks. Anthea sighed before she revealed Molly’s secret. “She asked me not to tell either of you, but she has seen Eric Bailey looking into her bedroom window frequently and she was worried that he might be spying on you two.” She told Sherlock. 

 

“I know about that. She told me.” Sherlock answered. 

 

“Good. Now you should tell her  _ your _ secret.” Mycroft piped up again. 

 

“No Mycroft.” Anthea started again. “Don’t you realise that if she knows she’ll want to move away from here, the one place where she is the safest. Let’s face it we don’t know who we’re dealing with here and the extent to which they will go to to get their way. This could be anything from a harmless threat to… Moriarty all over again.” 

 

Sherlock drew a sharp breath at the name. “Moriarty’s dead Anthea, I made sure of that last time.” 

 

“Yes I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that there are other people out there who are just as ruthless as he was. Molly needs to stay here, under our watchful eyes. Don’t tell her or Amanda that they’re being threatened. As for John and Mary, though, you need to tell them everything.” Anthea continued. She had taken over the situation and Mycroft was just standing there looking at her with awe and admiration while pressing a bag of frozen peas to his face. 

 

“Why do John and Mary need to know?” Sherlock asked, shovelling another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. 

 

“Because it wouldn’t be the first time someone used John Watson to try and get to you. Once again, we don’t know who we’re dealing with so we don’t know how much about us they know. Either way it would take a brain dead monkey all of five minutes to realise that the Watsons are a family you care about deeply. You and John are ex-roommates, you live right next door to each other, you’re regularly seen chatting away with him, your daughters are best friends and you each made the other your daughter’s god-father. So yes, John needs to know so that if they come after him he can protect his family. I mean, what if the girls are just playing in the backyard together and this lunatic decides to take both of them. Don’t you think John has a right to know if his daughter’s life is in the slightest bit of danger.” 

 

Sherlock nodded silently as Anthea went on her rant around the kitchen, turning on the kettle and setting out tea things before helping herself to some ice cream. Seeing her like this he could see precisely how much she and Molly had in common because Molly did the exact same thing when she was trying to prove a point. “I’ll talk to him tonight. As for you, Mycroft, I want every millimetre of this place covered with security. I want Fort Knox to look like the Turkish Bazaar compared to this house.” Sherlock requested, having gotten his emotions under control again. 

 

“You’re already on the second highest security status, there isn’t really much more we can do without attracting attention. But I’ll see what I can arrange.” Mycroft responded, suddenly looking very tired. 

 

Sherlock nodded and turned to walk out into the garden to spend some much needed time with his daughter. He paused remembering something and turned back to look at his brother. “Thank you, Myc. If something had really happened to Molly I’m confident you would have done everything to get her back safely.” It was the only time, that he could remember, that he had consciously thanked his older brother. 

 

*****

 

Later that evening Sherlock and Amanda were sprawled out on the living room carpet watching  _ Frozen _ when Molly got home. 

 

“Hey, you two. Did you have a nice day?” She asked them happily. Finally Sherlock could relax, knowing that she was safe at home. He got up and hugged her close before kissing her and helping her out of her jacket. A little flutter of excitement went through him as he saw the small bump under her shirt.

 

“Daddy’s being weird.” Amanda summarised without taking her eyes off the dancing and singing trolls on the screen in front of her. 

 

“Oh? What’s up?” Molly asked her husband. 

 

“I got a little worried when I couldn’t find you anywhere around the house, but then I found your note. No biggie. Maybe wake me up next time though.” Sherlock suggested, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Dinner’s on the way. I ordered from a restaurant nearby that does everything, so I got you some lasagna.” 

 

“Oh, well in that case I better go freshen up before it arrives. You look a little peaky, are you sure you’re okay?” She asked him again. 

 

“Yes, yes I’m fine.” Sherlock insisted. The rest of the evening was a quiet one. They ate and watched the rest of the movie. Sherlock actually singing a couple of lines along with Molly and Amanda who, naturally, knew the whole movie by heart. Sherlock’s world was once again perfect. By the time he walked into their bedroom after putting Amanda to bed, Molly had already started getting ready in the bathroom. He knocked on the door and heard her jump inside. 

 

“J-Just a minute, love.” She answered quickly. There was a beeping that came from her mobile phone that was on the dresser next to the bathroom door. She opened the door and snatched the phone away before Sherlock could hand it to her. A minute and a half later she came out, holding her toilet bag suspiciously close to her. Sherlock grabbed her around the waist and held her close again, kissing her deeply and knocking the breath out of her. He still hadn’t completely gotten over that morning’s scare and just wanted to reassure himself that she was safe and close. Molly’s grip on the bag tightened to keep him from picking it out of her hands. He retreated into the bathroom and she continued to get ready in the bedroom. When he came back out he found her talking on the phone. 

 

“I gotta go. Okay, thanks, Meena. No, no, I won’t leave it so long before we meet up again. Bye, goodnight.” He heard her say before she hung up.

 

“Meena?” He asked. 

 

“Friend at work.” She clarified. “You know, the other pathologist whose boyfriend you said was gay. The same one who’s been trying to get me to stop crushing on you since then.” Molly described laughingly. 

 

“Big, red, curly hair, wide lips, Irish?” He tried, going through the catalogue of faces marked as ‘Important to Molly’ in his mind palace. 

 

“Yep, that’s the one. I met up with her in London today and I left something behind.” She lied. 

 

Sherlock figured he would get the answers the next day but right now he was tired and he only wanted to sleep with Molly. She got into the bed next to him and snuggled close, laying her head on top of his chest as he wrapped his arm around her back and resting on her hip. Sherlock kissed the top of her head. 

 

“Molly, I love you.” He breathed. 

 

“I love you too.” She said sweetly. He could feel the nervousness rolling off her and the tiny bite of her lower lip against his shirt. “Sherlock…” She asked. 

 

“Mmm.” Sherlock said lazily, circling his finger on her hip. 

 

“I’m pregnant.” She announced lovingly. Sherlock looked down at her in shock. Not because he hadn’t already deduced it but because for the past day he had been a lot more worried about Molly herself rather than the potential foetus she was carrying. No. Not a foetus, he corrected. A baby. Their baby. “Well don’t look so surprised. You knew this was coming, I only took a test to confirm what you told me. Well, actually I took five tests.” 

 

“Five tests? A little eager, are we?” Sherlock laughed. 

 

“Well, that’s why I went to London today. I figured if I just went to the local doctor or even to John, it would take a while before we got our results, so I talked to Meena in the morning and she told me to come in and she would have the results by tomorrow morning latest. But I couldn’t really wait so I got two packs of home pregnancy tests to try here. But Meena had the results tonight so she went ahead and gave me the news.” 

 

“And all of them were positive?” Sherlock chuckled. Molly nodded with a beaming smile. “Let me see.” Sherlock asked before he could stop himself. Molly got up and found the toilet bag and opened it slipping out the four tests and holding them out in a fan arrangement for Sherlock to see properly. He took one of the plastic sticks in his hands and took a closer look at the little blue plus. Sherlock broke into a smile before he took all of the tests from Molly and threw them away somewhere in the room. He didn’t see because he pulled Molly in a lying position and leaned over her to kiss her. He trailed his lips down her neck and shoulders, over her breasts and down to her stomach where he stopped and started planting kiss after kiss. Molly laughed as his lips tickled her and she knotted her fingers into his curls. 

 

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.” He muttered against her skin. 

 

“And you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this.” Molly admitted, pulling him back up towards her lips for a proper kiss. As they laughed and giggled together. Suddenly there was a hurried knock at the bedroom door and Sherlock jumped up standing between Molly and the door. There was another knock before they heard a little voice calling. 

 

“Mummy. Mummy I’m scared.” Amanda cried. Sherlock relaxed and crossed the room to open the door. Molly was next to him quickly and when she came in, Amanda ran straight into Molly’s arms. “Mummy I saw a ghost. There’s a ghost trying to come into my room.” 

 

Molly stroked Amanda’s hair and shushed her. “Where did you see this ghost sweetheart?” Molly wondered. 

 

“The window. He was trying to come in through the window, I could see his face and I ran away.” Amanda whimpered. Molly hugged her close, remembering the scary dreams she had had as a young girl and how safe she felt with her parents. She tried to soothe the little girl by running her hand up and down along her back. Sherlock came closer, holding Amanda’s favourite stuffed panda toy. 

 

“She dropped this. Here you go, panda.” He said crouching down behind his daughter. Just then she screamed, seeing something over Molly’s shoulder. 

 

“There he is. The ghost. He’s trying to come in through the window.” Amanda cried before she broke into tears. Both her parents tried to calm and console her. 

 

“No. No, sweetie. That’s just daddy’s reflection in the glass. There’s no ghost, see? Look, look. See it’s daddy.” Molly explained as she wiped the girl’s face with her hands. “Listen, how about you and panda come up here on the bed with me, where the ghost can’t get you.” 

 

“I’d like that.” Amanda said slowly. “Why’s daddy here? Is he afraid to sleep in his room too?” She asked curiously. 

 

“No, panda. I’m just a very foolish man who finally realised just how much I love your mummy.” Sherlock said as he scooted into bed next to her. Molly couldn’t help but giggle. 

 

“So we get to be a family like Hannah’s?” She asked excitedly, tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time happily. 

 

“Yes, sweetie. We get to be a big happy family.” Molly gushed. 

 

“Okay. Now go to bed, both of you.” Sherlock yawned. 

 

Amanda snuggled in between her parents who wrapped her up in their arms as they all settled in bed and fell asleep. 

  
  
  
  
  



	20. An Evil Scientist and His Rein-Cat

Summer turned into autumn and it wasn’t long before the nights started growing longer and much, much colder and Molly took the opportunity to hide her little bump under sweaters and blankets. She and Sherlock had agreed to keep the news to themselves until Molly was at least twelve weeks along and they were sure that there wasn’t anything strange about the pregnancy. Sherlock, of course, couldn’t help himself since this was his first pregnancy despite already being a father, and he dove straight into medical journals, blogs, and websites, researching all the different stages and phases of the pregnancy and what he should or shouldn’t do. He caught Molly tittering one day and realised she had found the account he had created, pretending to be a single mum-to-be on a pregnancy website to try and get practical information. She found some of the comments on his questions ridiculous. What Sherlock didn’t know, obviously was that she had an account on the same page and had answered him on several occasions. 

 

Amanda was starting to realise certain changes in her mum, though, like how sick and tired she was all the time. She was starting to ask questions and Molly and Sherlock decided to go ahead and tell her, if she promised to keep it a secret for a while. They sat down on the couch together one evening after dinner. 

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Amanda asked when her parents sat down on either side of her, her little feet dangling in the air because they were too short to reach the floor. 

 

“No sweetie.” Molly reassured, stroking her hair. “But daddy said you’ve been asking some questions about me and we thought you might like to know what’s going on.” She smiled at the little girl. 

 

“Are you sick?” Amanda asked sadly. 

 

“Well, just a little bit. But the doctor’s given me some medicine and I’m getting better.” Molly answered. 

 

“No, I mean like really sick. Because last year Millicent said her mummy got sick like you and then she died.” Amanda explained sadly. 

 

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous Amanda, do you see any signs of a serious illness?” Sherlock asked her. 

 

She looked up at Molly, who smiled back, and Amanda shook her head. “No. But she’s sick, she’s throwing up all the time and she’s always sleepy.” She summarised. 

 

“Well, those are just symptoms.” Sherlock explained. 

 

“What’s a thimp-thom? She asked, slipping into her lisp. She had trouble pronouncing new words properly and it had taken her and Sherlock a lot of work to get over her lisp.

 

“Symp-tom.” Sherlock corrected, stretching out the word. “It’s the bits of the sickness that help the doctor see what you have. Like, sneezing and coughing are symptoms of the flu, among other things, but if you’re throwing up, that could be a symptom of something else.” Sherlock explained patiently and clearly. Molly really did admire how great of a teacher he was with Amanda. She realised that when someone was truly interested in learning what Sherlock knew, he was actually very generous. 

 

“So what does mummy have?” Amanda asked impatiently. 

 

“Well, the best way to say it is, you’re going to be a big sister.” Molly announced happily. 

 

“Really?” Amanda squeaked. 

 

“Yes, you’re going to be a big sister.” Sherlock chuckled at her expression, picking her up and seating her in his lap so that he could scoot closer to Molly. 

 

Amanda squealed, her eyes glistening with water. She jumped up and threw her arms around Molly’s neck, her laughs turning into shrieks of gladness. Both her parents started tickling her stomach and sides, until they had to stop because she started coughing.

 

When she had calmed down, she looked up at her parents and asked. “Can I go tell Hannah I’m gonna be a big sister?” She said excitedly, turning it more into an announcement rather than a question. 

 

“No, no. You have to promise to keep it a secret for now. You can’t even tell granny and grandpa.” Molly whispered, adding effect to her words. 

 

“Okay I promise. Shhhhh.” Amanda whispered back, placing her forefinger in front of her lips before making the shushing sound. 

 

*****

 

Later that night, Sherlock went up to bed expecting to find Molly already sound asleep since she had gone up about an hour before. But when he opened the door he found the room completely still and the bed empty. He checked the bathroom and found it empty as well. He could feel the panic slowly start to rise up inside him again and remembered to stop and be logical. He pushed his anxiety down and scanned the room, finding nothing that told him that Molly hadn’t walked out of her own volition. 

 

“You were downstairs, you would have heard if something had happened.” He muttered to himself before he remembered the other bedroom. They hadn’t been using it as regularly as they had been previously since Molly had gotten pregnant. Sherlock knocked on the door quietly before turning the knob and popping his head around. He found Molly kneeling on the floor and reaching under the bed.

 

“Hello.” She said sheepishly. 

 

“What are you doing in here?” he asked teasingly. 

 

“You’ve been doing your research, you should know that pregnancy hormones can go all over the place.” Molly explained, moving her hips flirtatiously. 

 

“Oh?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at her, moving completely into the room and carefully closing the door behind him. 

 

“Mmm. I was feeling a little hot waiting all alone in that room, I was going to take care of it myself, since you were so busy down there, but we moved all our little playthings in here and I was looking for them.” Molly said slowly, stepping forward and running her hands all over his torso. 

 

“Maybe I can cool you down myself, now that I’m here.” Sherlock suggested, wrapping his arms around her waist a little tightly before he dipped her back, taking her off guard. He kissed her deeply before he straightened her up again. 

 

“Woah!” Molly tittered, turning red all over. “That didn’t help cool me down one bit.” She fanned herself. 

 

“I know.” Sherlock said cheekily. 

 

“Don’t sound so cocky.” Molly slapped him gently on his abs. 

 

“It’s too late for that.” He chuckled taking her hand in his, kissing her palm and sliding it back down his body to rest on his bulging erection through his trousers. 

 

“It looks like someone forgot to wear his underwear.” Molly commented. 

 

“Did you know, that some women have claimed that the best sex they’ve had was when they were pregnant?” Sherlock crooned. 

 

“Mmm, yes I read those articles too. Some very interesting finds there. Did you see the one about positions?” She asked, slipping her hand into his trousers and running her fingers along his cock. 

 

“Yes. Though we don’t really have to worry about that just no-Oh Molly!” He moaned as Molly ran her nails lightly along his shaft. Molly released him and pushed him back by the shoulders, toppling him onto the bed behind. 

 

“I really would like to see how you would handle me being on top though.” Molly said as she straddled him and bent forward to kiss him. 

 

*****

 

The end of October marked the end of Molly’s eleventh week and she was getting very excited at the thought of revealing it to everyone, including her family. Halloween fell on a Saturday and she and Sherlock had decided that it would be best if they got all their families together and told them over dinner. They didn’t want to risk them being seen on the lane however since they were still undercover and it could risk blowing it. So Sherlock had suggested to his mother that having a large family gathering, including Molly’s side would be a wonderful idea and she had agreed to play host. Of course she probably already knew what they were going to announce at dinner and she would create a pregnancy appropriate meal. 

 

In the meantime however, Amanda was extremely excited to celebrate Halloween with her new family and she desperately wanted the perfect costume. They had gone to a bunch of shops but she had wrinkled her nose at all the low-quality ones that never seemed to fit right. She kept complaining that it wasn’t like the one she saw on TV and that it wasn’t the real thing. Molly also couldn’t find exactly what she wanted and decided that she would go ahead and make the costumes herself. She thanked god that she didn’t really have anything to do in the house and had spent most of her summer working on them and that Amanda thought well in advance about what she wanted to be. Finally the night arrived and she ran around the house in her light blue, sparkly, floor length dress and blonde wig. 

 

“Look daddy, I’m Elsa.” She said gleefully twirling around the living room. Sherlock laughed as the wig fell off her head and she put it back on, lopsided and half of her curls poking out from underneath it. 

 

“Come here. Let me help you with that and then I’ll get my coat and we can go trick or treating.” Sherlock said, taking the pins out of her hair and sticking the ends between his lips so he could work. 

 

“But you have to change and we have to wait for mummy, she’s putting on her costume right now.” Amanda complained. 

 

“Change?” Sherlock hummed through his half closed lips. Just then Molly walked down the staircase and walked into the living room. He took in her appearance with the full blue skirt and black embroidered bodice. She had a pink cape and long brown boots. She had coloured her hair a little lighter on her last visit to the hairdressers’ giving it more of a reddish tinge than her usual colour and was now wearing it in two long braids on either side of her face. 

 

“Mummy you look pretty.” Amanda complimented when she saw her mother. 

 

“Thank you, sweetie. What happened to your hair?” Molly asked with a laugh, seeing Sherlock’s mouth full of hair pins. 

 

“It flew off.” She said innocently. 

 

“Oh it flew off! Did it sprout wings and flutter off your head while you were sitting down quietly?” Molly mocked a little. Amanda didn’t budge and she nodded. “Well it’s a good thing that the windows weren’t open then.” Molly continued. “Why don’t you let me do that and you go and change.” Molly suggested to Sherlock. 

 

“Why do I have to change, what I’m wearing is perfectly suitable for going trick or treating.” Sherlock said, taking the pins out of his mouth to talk properly and because his lips were starting to cramp up. 

 

“Oh no. Last month I asked you if you wanted me to make you a costume to go with ours and for the party tonight and you said yes and I have been slaving over that sewing machine everyday since and you are not backing out of it now. Your costume’s on the bed. Go on. Get.” Molly commanded, pulling him upright from the armchair and slapping him on his ass to get him going. She took the pins from his hand and sat down in stead of him as he sulked off to the bedroom. Molly was finishing up the braid in Amanda’s wig when he came back down, fussing with the fur at the hem of his shirt. 

 

“Molly, would you mind telling me why my costume is traditional Norwegian mountain wear?” Sherlock asked as he fiddled with the gloves and hat. 

 

“So you can tell that’s traditional Norwegian mountain wear but you don’t know it’s a character from a movie you’ve watched with Amanda only a hundred times?” Molly asked sarcastically. 

 

“No.” Sherlock answered seriously. 

 

Molly audibly sighed. “Amanda’s Elsa, I’m Anna and you’re Kristoff from Frozen.” She explained. 

 

“And Kristoff is…” Sherlock started trying to remember which character he was supposed to be. 

 

“The love of Anna’s life. And she’s the love of yours. Here, daddy.” Amanda interjected, finishing her description by holding Toby up for Sherlock to take. 

 

“What’s this? Why did you put antlers on Toby?” He asked his daughter holding up the ginger cat who looked to be so done with Amanda’s antics. 

 

“He’s not Toby. He’s Sven, your trusty stinky reindeer sidekick.” She smiled cheekily. 

 

“Why do I have to be smelly reindeer boy? Why can’t I be the brain-dead snowman?” He asked, picking up the DVD cover and looking at the picture of the main characters, remembering very little of the actual plot. “Or the dragon, I’m sure there was a dragon in this, I remember roaring.” 

 

“There was no dragon, the roaring you heard was Marshmallow, who isn’t as sweet as he sounds, and that costume goes beyond my abilities. And we thought you would love to be  Kristoff. He and Anna sort of get together at the end of the movie, and you get your own trusty sidekick.” She said indicating Toby who meowed from Sherlock’s hands as if he was asking for help. Molly turned away from the conversation to finish up her make-up. Sherlock stroked Toby and looked at him, apologising for Amanda dragging him into this. 

 

“Tell me something, am I showing in this dress?” Molly asked, running her hands over her stomach through her dress. 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You look wonderful.” He reassured. 

 

“That’s not what I asked. I want to know if I’m showing because we are about to go trick or treating with Mary and she notices everything.” 

 

“No, you’re not showing.” 

 

“Good, if I can show in my other costume then tell me and I’ll stay in this one.” She said, finishing up her mascara. 

 

“What other costume?” Sherlock asked suspiciously. 

 

“Well we’re all going to Gaby’s party later and I figured Anna and Kristoff wouldn’t be too appropriate for a grown up party. But I made my costume before I knew I was pregnant and it’s a little skin tight.” Molly explained. “Don’t worry you have one, too. I think you’ll like that better than this one. ” 

 

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes at the same time that the doorbell rang. He opened to see Mary dressed in a costume out of the movie as well. He stood aside to let them in and Hannah hugged his legs. 

 

“Hello, Uncle Sherlock. Are you Kristoff?” She asked in wonderment, seeing his costume. 

 

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, kneeling down and hugging her back. 

 

“And you have a SVEN!” she shouted happily when she saw Toby’s antlers. 

 

“Apparently. Who are you?” He asked, playing along. Since he had become a father, he had realised that everything was important and big in little children’s lives, and he had learnt to play along. 

 

“I’m Anna at the coronation. Mummy’s Elsa. Daddy’s  _ supposed  _ to be Olaf but his costume’s not as good.” Hannah appraised. 

 

“Excuse me, but I was not going to wear a dress out in public.” John insisted. 

 

“But it doesn’t look as good.” Hannah held. 

 

John was wearing a baseball shirt with brown sleeves and a white front with three black felt spots stuck on, to simulate the snowman’s buttons. He also had on a pair of plain white jeans and plain white running shoes. To top it off, he wore an Olaf cap on his head, to include the face.

 

“Yes but if you get tired walking, I won’t be able to pick you up if I’m wearing the big dress.” John offered. 

 

Hannah shrugged, deciding that her father was right but still wanting him to put on a proper costume. Amanda joined her friend and they started prancing around the living room in their dresses, while Molly and Mary stood admiring their daughters. 

 

“So I don’t know if we’re going to the party tonight so you can cancel the babysitter and we’ll watch Hannah ourselves.” Molly told her friend. 

 

“What? No. You have to come, it won’t be as much fun without you. Besides, if Sherlock’s there, he and John can sulk in the corner together and let us have our fun.” 

 

“Yeah I know, and I was really looking forward to it but I don’t have a costume now since I gained some weight and I need to cut back on the drinking. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Molly lied. 

 

“What are you talking about? You’ve never looked any better and since when are you too old for drinking?” Mary asked incredulously. 

 

“I just…” Molly started, shrugging and instinctively running her hand along the front of her dress. 

 

“Oh my god, are you pregnant?” Mary whispered excitedly.

 

“No. No. What are you talking about? No.” Molly answered quickly. 

 

“Oh. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Mary snickered. 

 

“It’s ‘the lady doth protest too much, methinks’.” Molly corrected, trying to change the subject. 

 

“Don’t change the subject. Molly Holmes. You. Are. Pregnant.” She accused, a little louder. Out of the corner of her eye, Molly could see Sherlock change colour a little before he huffed a defeated sigh and stepped closer to her. 

 

“You did say she notices everything, love.” Sherlock muttered in her ear as he kissed her forehead. 

 

“Yes alright, I’m pregnant. We were going to tell you guys next week after the scan.” Molly laughed. 

 

“That the twelve week scan then?” John asked smilingly. 

 

“Yeah. We decided not to tell anyone before. Except Amanda of course.” Molly explained. “Even our parents don’t know anything, and I’m pretty sure even Mycroft is still clueless.” 

 

At the mention of her name, Amanda turned to her parents. “Yes, mummy.” 

 

“You can tell Hannah your big news now.” Sherlock told her. 

 

“Hannah, I’m gonna be a big sister.” She announced to her friend suddenly and both girls started screaming and jumping up and down. 

 

*****

 

After they had gone trick or treating around the neighbourhood. And after Mycroft and Anthea had both deduced that Molly was pregnant when they knocked on their door. The little group split up and went back to their own houses so that the parents could change for the party, Mary having convinced Molly to come along. Amanda went home with the Watsons since the babysitter would be going there. 

 

Sherlock was in the bedroom changing while Molly was in the bathroom. “You were right, I do prefer this costume.” He yelled, making sure she heard him. He was wearing a white lab coat, painted with blood smears. He put on a pair of his usual black trousers under it and Molly had bought him a pair of big black boots. The final touch was a pair of black leather lab gloves. 

 

“I knew you would. Something about you just screams evil scientist. What do you think?” She asked as she revealed herself.

 

“Woah. You look amazing, Molly.” He complimented “Let me guess, you’re my sexy evil lab assistant.” 

 

“Yes.” Molly smiled. She twirled around on her toes, letting Sherlock see her properly. Her costume was exactly like his, except that her ‘lab coat’ looked more like a button down dress that clung to her curves. Thankfully, her little bump wasn’t that noticeable and ordinary people would mistake it for her usual stomach. Her hair was teased up high to make her look a little taller and crazier. Sherlock had to admit that he really did like her hair this way. “Come here, let me fix your hair.” She said, holding a comb. Sherlock sat down on her vanity stool and she stood behind him, teasing his curls. At the end of her ministrations, his hair looked closer to an afro than mad curls, but she decided that it would have to do since they were expected at the party in five minutes and the doorbell was ringing. 

 

She opened the door to see Mary dressed as a sexy horror nurse in a black lab coat similar to Molly’s. John followed, in his blood stained lab coat. A plastic arm poking out of one pocket and a bloody saw in the other. Mary set her heavy bag on the first table and started pulling out her make up things, because, as talented as Molly was with hair, Mary was with make-up and she had agreed to finish Molly up before the party. Sherlock opened up two beers for him and John as they waited for their wives to finish. Finally, as they were leaving the house, Anthea and Mycroft walked up to them in their costumes: Dracula and a sexy vampire. 

 

All three girls hooked their arms together as they walked down the lane to the large house in the corner where the party was being hosted. Molly leaned over to Anthea and whispered. 

 

“How on earth did you manage to convince Mycroft to wear that costume?” She tittered. 

 

“Oh I just bought a cape and mentioned how sexy he looked in it. Everything else came out of his closet.” Anthea explained, discreetly indicating his maroon velvet waistcoat. 


	21. A Surprise Under the Tree

As December rolled in, Molly realised that this was going to be their first Christmas together as a proper family. What was more, since this was also their first Christmas in their new house, their decorations (or her decorations since Sherlock’s were strictly speaking Mrs Hudson’s) were woefully unsuited. Anthea felt the same and they had decided that a long shopping trip was in order and, as soon as the first weekend of December rolled in, they went out. 

 

They were sitting in a small cafe surrounded by dozens of bags when Molly brought up the topic of gifts. 

 

“What do you get a man who claims to have everything he wants?” She wondered out loud. 

 

“You’re talking about Sherlock, right? Cause I think I might know.” Anthea smiled, chewing on a chocolate biscuit.

 

“Really? Please tell me, I have been trying to figure something out since his birthday in August.” Molly pleaded. 

 

“Here. I know for a fact that he likes these and I even know where you can get one somewhere around here. I can keep it for you until Christmas or you can tell the store that you’ll pick it up on the 24th.” Anthea supplied, passing Molly her phone where she had scrolled to a picture. 

 

“Yeah of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think about this before. Do you really think he’ll like it?” Molly asked her friend as she passed her back her phone. 

 

“I think he’ll love it. Then again, it’s you, I think he’ll love anything you give him.” Anthea admitted. She could see just how much Sherlock loved his wife. 

 

“Thanks.” Molly blushed, patting her bump gently. 

 

“You know, you could go ahead and tell him the truth.” Anthea suggested out of the blue. 

 

“The truth about what?” Molly avoided, sipping on her hot chocolate. 

 

“Come on, Moll. You know exactly what I’m talking about and I think Sherlock deserves the truth.” Anthea said seriously, her tone telling Molly that she wasn’t taking any nonsense. 

 

“I still don’t think it’s the right time.” Molly shrugged simply, taking out her shopping lists and pretending to be busy reviewing them

 

“When will the right time be then? You’re married, you have a child and another on the way, when exactly do you plan on telling him, when you’re welcoming your grandchildren to the world?” Anthea said a little angrily. She whispered the last bit to avoid raising her voice and turning the other customers’ attentions towards them. 

 

“When I think it’s safe.” Molly muttered, essentially telling her best friend to keep out of her business. 

 

“It  _ is  _ safe. It couldn’t be any safer if you were living at Buckingham bloody Palace.” Anthea kept on insisting. 

 

“We thought that once before and low and behold it got even more dangerous than it was before. No I made that mistake once, I won’t do it again.” Molly whispered angrily. 

 

“Face it Moll, you’re just scared of how he’ll take it. You’re afraid he’ll hate you after you tell him.” 

 

“Maybe. After all, I’ve kept the biggest secret from him for nearly eight years. I mean, don’t you remember the tirade he went on in the beginning?” Molly said, remembering the incident like a war flashback. 

 

“Yes but that was back when he didn’t know that you were involved and long before he fell in love with you. Listen to me, he won’t hate you.” 

 

“Imagine if someone did that to you. Imagine if Mycroft did something like that to you.” 

 

“I would forgive him, because I love him.” Anthea said gently. 

 

“Not if it was as big a secret as this.”  

 

“Yes. Moll, he’s kept dozens of secrets from me. He even kept it to himself when someone threatened to kill me. But I still forgave him and I still love him, because I knew he had a good reason to keep it from me. And you had a good reason to keep it from Sherlock, at the time. But now that good reason is gone and the longer you keep it from him, the bigger the chance that he won’t forgive you.” 

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell him. It’s just that I’ve wanted to be with him for such a long time, and now we’re together and I have everything I’ve ever wanted, I don’t want to lose it.” Molly said desperately. 

 

“I understand. But what about you? Do you really want to keep living a lie?” 

 

“I’ve made peace with it. I don’t care if don’t tell anybody. Everyone’s happy, including me and I don’t want to ruin that.” 

 

“And what if something happens and the secret comes out. Do you really think Sherlock will be so quick to forgive you if it’s not you that tells him?” Anthea brought up, trying to convince her. 

 

“I know I have to tell him. I just don’t know how to approach the situation.” 

 

“I know you’ll figure it out, Moll. And you know Mycroft and I are here to help if you want, right?” 

 

“Of course I do. I mean you’ve both kept my secret safe for so long.”

 

“That was another thing Mycroft kept from me. He never told me right away but then he needed my help with the transfer and he had to come clean.” 

 

“Good. I would hate to think that I came between the two of you, even way back then.” Molly apologised. 

 

“You didn’t.” Anthea reassured “But you really do need to tell Sherlock, now. Before this baby gets here. I’m sure he can’t stay mad at a pregnant woman, especially when she’s pushing his child out.” 

 

“If he does, I could always accidentally break his hand while I’m in labour.” Molly joked. 

 

“See, you’re already starting to figure things out.” Anthea laughed. 

 

*****

 

Sherlock was almost relieved when all the presents had been opened and he hadn’t received anything from Molly. He shot a glance towards the base of the tree and smiled slightly when he couldn’t see any brightly wrapped boxes. He pulled Molly closer to him on the couch and kissed her cheek. He considered himself lucky to have found someone who truly understood him. That didn’t mean, of course, that he wasn’t going to indulge her, and the unborn baby. 

 

He had given Molly a beautiful diamond and pearl necklace and matching earrings. The necklace had a spray of white diamond orchids at her collar with pink pearls at their centres while the earrings had an orchid and a butterfly each, coming down in a diamond cascade. Molly had gone speechless when she opened the box and tiny tears of happiness gathered at the edges of her eyes. 

 

“Sorry, it’s just my hormones.” She excused. 

 

“Nonsense. You would have done the same if you weren’t pregnant, and that’s why I love you.” He chirred. “And for the baby.” He said handing her a perfectly wrapped little box. Molly ripped the paper and opened the box, tipping it over her open hand to catch the contents. A baby rattle shaped like crocheted yellow duck peeked out and Molly couldn’t help herself. 

 

“Awwww. Sherlock it’s adorable, the baby will just love it.” She cooed, rubbing her belly. They sat there kissing for a while until Sherlock pulled back. 

 

“Right, five more minutes of playtime and then you have to go get ready so we can go to granny’s for lunch.” Sherlock told Amanda, who was overjoyed at the idea of seeing her grandparents and father’s siblings. Although she was probably more excited at the idea of receiving more Christmas presents. 

 

“Hang on, I still have to give you your gift. I need to go get it from Anthea’s, give me a minute.” She said patting his knee as she got up and crossed over to the door, putting on her coat and wellington boots over her pyjamas. She traipsed across the street and knocked on the door. A bleary-eyed Mycroft answered. 

 

“Good morning.” She chirped. “I’m here to pick up Sherlock’s present as promised. And I think you should start getting ready since we’re expected at your mother’s soon.” 

 

“Yes, come in. Anthea’s wrapping it up for you.” He yawned. She had never seen Mycroft in his pyjamas and with mussed hair. He led Molly into the kitchen, where a fully dressed and made up Anthea was sitting at the table finishing up a neat bow on top of the colourful box. 

 

“There you go.” Anthea said, carefully handing over the box. “Remember to hold it very, very still.” 

 

“Thank you for keeping it overnight, the surprise wouldn’t have lasted two minutes if I had taken it home.” 

 

“Go. We’ll see you all later, once this one’s woken up.” Anthea said pointing to Mycroft who was groaning, face in hands. 

 

“See you later.” Molly said, showing herself out and quickly back to her home, ducking inside as the first snowfall of Christmas day was starting. 

 

“Here you go, keep it still while you’re opening it.” Molly told Sherlock, carefully placing the box in his lap and kneeling back in front of him, wanting to have a clear view of his expression. 

 

“Molly you really didn’t have to get me anything. You know I’m not a huge fan of presents.” Sherlock explained as he undid the bow. He was a little surprised that Molly hadn’t wrapped the box in the colourful paper she loved so much. He knew it was her favourite part of giving a gift, the whole buying the gift and wrapping it up, first impressions and all that. Still, the large box was brightly patterned and coloured and he figured that perhaps Molly thought it a waste. Sherlock lifted the lid to reveal a small, red-furred bundle, curled up and snoozing peacefully. 

 

“Molly what is this?” Sherlock asked her, stroking the puppy with one finger. She placed a comforting hand on his knee. 

 

“He’s an Irish Setter. Pure breed, I made sure. All with Anthea’s help, of course.” She answered simply. 

 

Sherlock ran his hand over his face, discreetly wiping a tear from his face. He stroked the little creature again and the dog stirred, sitting up and stretching with a yawn before looking up at its new master. 

 

“You got daddy a doggy.” Amanda announced happily. “Can we keep him? Is it a him? Or a her?” She interrogated, moving her face closer to the dog to get a better look. Sherlock picked up the puppy in his arms and discarded the box aside. He did a quick check under his tummy and answered his daughter. 

 

“It’s a him and of course we’re keeping him.” He said. 

 

“How can you tell it’s a him?” Amanda asked and Molly had to laugh. She really wanted to see how he was going to get himself out of this question. 

 

“It’s a special test, a little too complicated for you at this age.” Sherlock said quickly. “Right, time to get ready for granny. Go on, quick.” Amanda stood up and ran up the stairs while Molly sat snickering.

 

“Well that was close.” She laughed as she rose to sit next to him and started stroking the squirming puppy in his arms. 

 

Sherlock wrapped his free arm around her and kissed her sweetly. “Thank you. He looks just like the one I had as a child.” 

 

“I know. Your mum showed me photos on our last visit.” 

 

“Not the one from the summer when I was seven and we were on a picnic.” He groaned. 

 

“The one where you’re sitting on a blanket, completely naked and the only thing covering ‘little William’ is Redbeard? Yeah that was one of the first she showed me.” She laughed remembering little Sherlock’s smiling face from the photo. 

 

“And where was I when she showed you?” He asked incredulously. 

 

“You and Amanda were playing with your dad in the backyard, and she took the opportunity.” 

 

“Well, I know what I’m stealing today. Change of subject, my present needs a name.” 

 

“Go ahead then.” Molly offered. 

 

“I need some help, I’m not good with names.” He admitted lazily. 

 

“Let me think.” She hummed, looking up at the ceiling as if it held the answer. “You like pirates right?” 

 

“Love them.” He said with a quick widening of his eyes. 

 

“Okay, Jack Sparrow, then.” She smiled at him. 

 

“What kind of pirate name is that?” He challenged, wrinkling up his face in disgust. 

 

“It’s the name of the captain in my favourite pirate film series. He gets himself in all sorts of trouble and I don’t think this little guy is going to be very different.” She explained, tickling the puppy’s nose. 

 

“That’s a ridiculous name for a pirate.” He shot. 

 

“Okay. How ‘bout… Captain, then?” She suggested. 

 

“Captain?” 

 

“Yeah, Captain Holmes.” 

 

“If anyone is Captain Holmes, that’s me.” He murmured in her ear, nibbling the lobe. 

 

“You’re no captain. You don’t have a hat. Although I think you would look really nice in a captain’s hat.” She stroked his ego. 

 

“Well, I know what I’m buying next from the Internet.” He teased, leaning closer to kiss her. She laughed and kissed him back. 

 

“Oh, I know.” She said suddenly. “How about Buster? It’s not a pirate name, but I think it’s cute.” 

 

“I like it. Buster Holmes it is.” He declared, patting Buster’s head. Suddenly Molly stomach produced an almighty growl. It startled the dog that was leaning his head in Molly’s lap and he gave a little yelp. 

 

“Ugh I can’t believe I’m hungry again.” Molly groaned. 

 

“How? You were up eating pancakes until two in the morning, you had five all on your own.” Sherlock questioned disbelievingly and recounting the Christmas breakfast they had concocted at the stroke of midnight. 

 

“Are you saying I’m fat?” She exclaimed. 

 

“No. You’re not fat. How dare you say that. You’re pregnant. You look thin for a pregnant woman actually. Not too thin though. Nothing to worry about. Unless you think there is something to worry about. He should be the size of a mango about now. I wonder…” He started blubbering.

 

“All right, Sherlock. I was just joking with you. There isn’t anything to worry about, I had my last scan two days ago and the doctor said that everything seemed okay. Oh and there was nothing mentioned about a boy. We still don’t know the sex and we aren’t finding out until the day.” Molly insisted before breaking out in a yawn. “God I am so tired, this baby keeps moving and the leg cramps are killing me.” 

 

“Relax and I’ll go get you something to eat.” Sherlock ordered, lifting her legs up onto the couch and covering her and the dog with a fleece blanket, before he moved into the kitchen to see what he could come up with that would keep Molly sated until mummy’s Christmas dinner. He pulled out his mobile and fired a quick text to his dad. 

 

_ Molly can’t stop eating. She’ll want lots of mummy’s turkey and pudding, possibly more than Mycroft. See you later today. SH.  _


	22. The Final Straw

“Molly.” Sherlock shouted excitedly. 

 

“In the bedroom Sherlock.” Molly bellowed back. 

 

“Molly, I think we’ve done it. Mycroft and I have a lead that might crack this case wide open, but we need to leave for London right away. We should be back late tonight or early tomorrow morning at the latest. Do you think you’ll be okay on your own here until then?” 

 

“Of course, Sherlock.” 

 

“Because, if you think the baby might be close to coming or you just don’t want me to go, I won’t. I’ll find a way to get out of it. You and the baby come first.” 

 

“Sherlock, I’m still thirty-eight weeks pregnant and I can’t feel any signs of imminent labour. But I will call you if I do feel the slightest sign and you can head back. Also I live next door to a doctor and his wife is a nurse, so I’m sure I’ll be okay.” 

 

“Okay. What do you plan on doing all night?” 

 

“Well, Amanda’s away with your sister and parents for the weekend and both the dog and cat are down for the count so I think I’ll take this opportunity to take a nice long bath and read in bed.” 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, I mean you’ll need help getting in and out of the bath, we wouldn’t want you slipping. Did you know that sixty percent of third trimester miscarriages are due to the mother suffering a fall or being in a car accident?” 

 

“Sherlock! I’ll be fine. I’ll be very careful getting out of the bath and Anthea is just across the road if I need anything. You have your phone and Mycroft has his. John and Mary are next door. I will not be any safer just because you are here, so you can go. But feel free to stay if you’re just trying to avoid sitting in a car with Mycroft for an hour.” 

 

“Two. It takes another hour to get back. But that’s not why I don’t want to go. I don’t think I should be leaving you all alone this close to the due date.”

 

“Molly.” 

 

“Sherlock. My speed-dial contacts are as follows. You’re number 1, 2 is Anthea, 3 is Mycroft, 4 is John, 5 is Mary, 6 is Lestrade, 7 is Mrs Hudson, 8 is your mother and 9 is mine. So I am completely covered if I have to contact someone to take me to the hospital even if you  _ and _ Mycroft don’t pick up because you’re too busy. And I promise you I will keep this baby inside until you are standing next to me and holding my hand.”

 

“I don’t think that’s possible, dear.” 

 

“Sherlock, you will never forgive me if I ask you to stay, nothing happens to me and Mycroft ends up taking all the credit. Go. Shoo.” She pushed him out of the bedroom. 

 

“Okay, I’ll say goodnight now in case I’m not back before you go to sleep.” Sherlock said and pulled her close for a kiss. 

 

“Goodnight, my love. And don’t worry, you’ll have this baby in your arms soon enough.” 

 

“I can’t wait to hold him.” 

 

“Her.” Molly corrected. 

 

“What makes you say that? I thought we were going to wait to see the sex.” 

 

“I am. It’s just a gut feeling. What makes you think it’s a boy?” 

 

“My mother. She says it’s the way you’re carrying and given the research I’ve carried into it, I’m inclined to believe her. Also no one argues with mummy about babies.” 

 

“Well, It’s my gut feeling that it’s a girl and my mother was right about all her gut feelings when she was pregnant. Also, since you’re sharing a bed with me, I would think you wouldn’t want to argue with  _ this _ mummy.”

 

Sherlock kissed her again before he left. 

 

*****

Anthea was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine and watching one of her favourite movies. Mycroft and Sherlock had just left but not before her brother in law had asked her to be on the alert since Molly was completely alone and he was still worried to leave her on her own. In the meantime, Mycroft would need her to stay alert since he would need to touch base with her once they got to London. So she was still dressed in a suit and heels, ready to go at a second’s notice. She had just finished her first glass of wine and poured herself another full one. The swelling music from the T.V. surrounded her, allowing her to relax for a few precious moments before Mycroft called her back to work. The movie reached a particularly tense moment and all sound from it stopped. 

 

That was when she heard the soft thump coming from behind her. At first she didn’t pay any mind to it, thinking it might have been something from the movie resonating through the surround sound system they had installed. A second later she heard another one and felt a sharp hand coming down on her shoulder. Her defence systems kicked in and she jumped and rolled forward, twisting herself to face the intruder. As she tucked in on herself, it offered the perfect position to reach down with her hand under the couch and pull out a gun she had hidden under there. She raised the gun in front of her and shot out into the darkness where she calculated the intruder might be. She heard gunshots coming her way, seeing the little muzzle flashes in the darkness. She was thankful for the colourful haze of light the television was providing her with. She ducked and rolled behind an armchair she knew was nearby, taking the opportunity to slip her heels off, before twisting herself in the direction of the light switch. She counted to three as the gunshots kept coming towards her direction. 

 

“Damn it. Find that bitch.” She heard the closest intruder tell another who was presumably in the same room. As she reached three, she ran as silently as she could to the light switch and turned it on, quickly spinning on the spot and aiming again, taking advantage of her attacker’s temporary blindness. She felt a sharp pain in her thigh and fell forward as it took her off guard. The room was suddenly plunged in darkness again and she realised that one of the men (as she had deduced that there were at least two men in her house.) had shot the bulbs, as some glass showered over her. She could hear the crunch of glass beneath heavy shoes as one of them stepped closer to her. In the background she could hear more commotion coming from the kitchen and beyond the living room and she realised that, whoever these people were, they were looking for something. 

 

*****

 

Across the street, Kevin picked the lock on the Holmes' front door. He spotted the letter slot on the door, engraved with the last name Chambers. They really thought they had everyone fooled with their 'cover' but Sherlock Holmes underestimated how well known he was and how much Mr. M wanted him to suffer. Kevin pushed his ear against the door right above the lock and listened carefully as he manipulated the mechanism to let him in.  He grinned as he heard the final click and the door swung open. Really he couldn't believe that the Holmes' didn't have a proper security system and were relying solely on Mycroft's measures. Then again they were iron clad. He'd already be dead if the Grimsby brothers weren't taking care of Mycroft's bitch. 

 

He swung the door open and signalled Doug back in the car, before he slunk into the house and deactivated the rest of the security system. He closed the door behind him, in case anyone decided to walk up the drive. He turned towards the staircase and climb up to the second level slowly, making sure that none of the residents could hear him approaching. Kevin stood at the top floor landing, trying to decide which way to go. After looking into two bedrooms and finding them empty, he finally found what he was looking for: the sleeping form of Molly Holmes. He snuck into the room, being careful not to wake her. He licked his dry lips as he took her in in the dim light. He had to appreciate Sherlock Holmes’ taste in women: his wife was a good looking one and, even heavily pregnant, she looked seductively intriguing and if Mr. M hadn’t specifically ordered him to not harm a hair on her head he would have done such wicked things to her. The Grimsby brothers had it better in that aspect. Mr. M didn’t care what happened to the MI6 bitch so he had told the brothers they could have all the fun they wanted with her. Molly Holmes, on the other hand, was his to handle alone. And no one crossed Mr. M. 

 

Kevin smiled in the dark as he ran a hand along her arm, thinking of how much she would scream underneath him. They always screamed. 

 

“Mmm. Welcome home, Sherlock.” She muttered in her sleep, cradling her baby bump. 

 

Kevin reached into two pockets on the front of his jacket and pulled out a rag and a bottle full of liquid. He administered some of the contents onto the rag carefully, closed it tightly and put it back in his pocket. He placed the chloroform rag over Molly’s mouth, making her breath in the fumes, making sure to hold down her wrist. Sure enough, Molly woke up and started thrashing about, trying to break free and scream. Of course, Kevin was prepared for it and he was used to the thrashing. Eventually, Molly was knocked out and her entire body went limp as she fell back into a slumber. Kevin pulled out his equipment from various pockets and tied Molly’s hands and feet up and covered her face. He reached over to the lamp on the bedside table and clicked it on, then off, three times. This was the signal to let Doug downstairs know that they were ready to move her. It would also let the Grimsby brothers know that the coast was clear in case they were waiting for him to finish up. Kevin picked Molly up and made his way back out the door and down the stairs where Doug was waiting for him with the door open and the car backed up to the entrance with the trunk standing open. He dumped Molly in the back, slammed the boot closed and both men walked around the car and into their front seat before Doug floored it and they sped out of the lane. 

 

*****

 

Back across the street, Sam Grimsby crossed the living room, crushing the bits of glass beneath his feet, while his brother Rob was in the kitchen checking out the equipment Mycroft had. He looked down at the redhead lying at his feet. He didn’t know what he liked more, women who shouted and screamed as he made them bleed and suffer or women who thought they could fight back. He bent down and picked her up by the collar of her shirt, enjoying seeing her claw at the neck that was closing tightly around her throat. 

 

“Come ‘ere darlin’” he chuckled evilly, grabbing the top of both her arms and pulling her close to him. It was at this point that he was really glad that Mr. M had given him and Rob free reign over what to do with Mrs Mycroft Holmes because her husband had a lot of payback coming his way. Mycroft Holmes had been responsible for the Grimsby’s parents’ deaths when they were still young boys. So when Mr. M had mentioned him in the briefing about tonight, they had jumped at the chance to be the ones to make him suffer. So, here he was, biting on Anthea’s neck. Suddenly, he felt her knee make contact between his legs and it felt like a wave of searing, white-hot pain shooting up to his stomach and around his hips. Everything seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace now and he was barely aware of his own hands cupping his balls and falling to his knees on the floor. He looked back up at Anthea in a moment of disbelief and that’s when he saw her fist coming to his face. She punched him in the nose and he could actually feel something cracking. He fell in a foetal position on the floor in a heap of pain and Anthea turned around to try and rush upstairs to her panic button that Mycroft had installed. A few paces forward though and she crashed into another body, the same large and solid build of her previous attacker, only this one seemed shorter. 

 

“Where da ya think yer goin’ lass?” Rob asked rhetorically, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand making her kilter her footing and taking advantage of this to turn her around and pin her to his body with his arms, making sure that her back was against his chest. “How ‘bout we take a trip up to yer room?” He chuckled darkly. 

 

As he started pushing her to the stairs, Anthea heard the front door open and close and another man, dressed in dark clothing like the brothers appeared. “Oi, what’s takin’ so long?” He asked Rob. 

 

“She’s a feisty one. I’m gonna take her upstairs to see how feisty she can get. Go take care of Sam, she did a number on him.” Rob answered with a sneer. He turned the both of them around to face the stairs as Anthea’s mind began to race through all the possibilities. He was most probably going to rape her. Killing her was another option high on the list and those were two scenarios she wanted to avoid if it all possible. She started picturing the upstairs in her mind, thinking of all the exits available and where they would lead. Ironically her safest bet at staying alive was jumping out the guest bedroom window and catching onto the tree that was right outside. She would land in the back garden but she’d be able to go to their neighbour Mrs Rogers and she could phone Mycroft up from there. She was sure her fiance would be able to persuade a lonely old woman to keep quiet about what happened. First though, she would need to get out of her attacker’s clutches and actually make it to the guest bedroom without him killing her. 

 

“I’m comin’ with you.” Dan said to Rob. “That bitch and her husband have got a lot to answer for. Unlucky for her she’s the only one here.” 

 

Anthea shuddered at those words. She realised that this was not going to be a simple rape and kill she would need to get out of. They were going to torture her for years of what they felt was injustice doled out to them by Mycroft. The kind of torture she herself had sometimes administered in order to get information they needed. She delved into her mind palace trying to see if she could remember exactly what they had done to these men. 

 

Rob adjusted his grip against Anthea’s struggling as Dan came around and picked her ankles up, giving them a little pull which she felt in her hips and knees. She winced at the pain and heard Dan laughing. 

 

“Don’t worry, lass. By the end of tonight you won’t feel a thing. You’ll feel a lot worse than that before the end though.” He chuckled. 

 

Panic and fear rose inside Anthea all of a sudden and she stared trying to kick free. She had been in worse situations before this but this felt more personal. Before she was always an MI6 agent, an intruder, someone unimportant in the grand scheme of things. But hearing these three men talk she got the impression that they felt it their life’s mission to end her and Mycroft in whatever way possible and make them pay. She kept her mind focused on the path they were taking. Could she trick them into going into the guest bedroom? Or should she let them find the master instead? There were a lot of things she could fight with in the bedroom if she had the tiniest opportunity. No doubt they would let her go at some point, especially if they were going to rape her. Her panic button was there too and she could alert Mycroft immediately. She might also be able to survive jumping out of the master bedroom window. That was right over the pool. She might not be able to swim as fast with the bullet in her hip but at least she didn’t see any sign of a gun on her two assailants. 

 

Dan and Rob manoeuvred into the upstairs hallway with her in their arms and she was glad to see that they were moving towards the master bedroom. Dan kicked the door in with a backward kick and he backed into the room with her ankles still in hand. As soon as he was in the room Rob turned around so that he was walking backwards and they threw her on top of the bed. Dan quickly jumping up to straddle her. They were not leaving anything to chance. He ran his hands up between her thighs and all the way to her knickers, running his knuckles over the crotch and humming. Anthea tried to fight him off, having had her arms and hands freed but he grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and pulled them over her head. In the meantime, Rob was searching through the drawers, looking for valuables he could take. Dan started undoing the buttons on Anthea’s shirt, taking his time squeezing each of her breasts. 

 

“Hey Dan, look at this.” Rob said from somewhere behind him. Dan turned around to see Rob holding up a lace thong. “Looks like this bitch’s got a kinky side to her.” Without thinking Dan got off the bed and walked over to his friend. Anthea took the opportunity and rolled off the bed silently, landing on her hands and knees. She crawled into the closet and started looking for her spare gun from under her shoe rack. 

 

“What do you think yer doin’?” Dan shouted behind her. He lunged at her and she grabbed the first thing that came to her hand, and hit him in the forehead with it. She saw the blood spurt but it was when she saw her red patent leather heel sticking out from his forehead that she realised what she had done. Dan fell onto his back and died. 

 

She grabbed the matching shoe and figured that if she could do it once, she could do it twice to save her life. She walked out of the closet determined to fight her attacker off until one of them was dead. As soon as she exited the closet he pushed her down to the floor from behind. He had been waiting, back to the wall, next to the closet door. Anthea managed to turn around in his grasp and started beating him with her shoe. The heel struck his arm and shoulder multiple times and there were small gashes in his shirt where blood was starting to run. She managed to slide out from his grasp and ran towards the window, hoping her first plan could still work. He caught up with her and grabbed her by the neck, slamming her head against the wall behind her repeatedly until she lost consciousness, but not before she had taken her panic button off the nightstand and pressed it for an entire five seconds. 

 

*****

 

Back in London, Mycroft was sitting in the booth of a dingy little cafe while Sherlock ordered. When he returned Sherlock silently handed Mycroft a glass of water and two aspirin which he had learned to always carry with him. Mycroft grunted in thanks and took the proffered medicine before downing the contents of the glass. 

 

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had to physically fight anyone.” He explained to his younger brother. 

 

“I noticed. Still, you managed to kill him in the end. I’d say job well done on both our parts.” Sherlock congratulated, leaning back and stretching in his seat. The tired looking waiter showed up with their coffee order and placed it on the table between the two men before he went behind the bar to continue his book again. 

 

“Anthea will be a little upset that we didn’t require her help after all. I’ll have to grovel for keeping her up.” Mycroft smiled. Both brothers knew that grovel meant letting the woman take charge in the bedroom. 

 

“Hurry up and drink Mycroft.” Sherlock snapped tiredly. “I have to get back to Molly. She must be worried sick. Think about grovelling to Anthea once we get there.” He teased. 

 

Mycroft’s phone bleeped just then. It was a sound Sherlock had never heard his brother’s phone make. It sounded like the alarm in a large industrial facility and it was more of a buzzing than a bell. Thankfully his phone was on the lower sound setting so it didn’t attract to much attention in the quiet room. Mycroft took a look at the screen and Sherlock could see his face pale. 

 

“We have to go. Anthea’s using her panic button.” Was all Mycroft told his brother before he was out the door of the cafe. Sherlock followed him, hoping that Anthea’s panic had nothing to do with the impending arrival of his son (or daughter). 

 

*****

 

When they got back to the lane Mycroft’s heart stopped when he saw his front door standing completely open. He ran in, shouting Anthea’s name. He stopped in the living room where he could see blood and wine staining the carpet in different places. The furniture and walls all had bullet holes in them and there was glass in one area of the room. He turned on the lights in the hallway to get a better look since the lights in the room wouldn’t turn on. Sherlock followed him in and took in the same scene. 

 

“If that’s her blood she was only shot once and it wasn’t anything severe given the size of the stain.” Sherlock tried to reassure. He didn’t like the idea of Anthea being hurt but at least he knew the alarm had nothing to do with Molly. Mycroft searched every room of the downstairs before he turned to go upstairs, Sherlock following him all the while. Their first stop upstairs was the master bedroom. Mycroft looked in the closet and saw a man lying down on his back with a shoe sticking out of his forehead. He managed a small smile and looked at Sherlock almost proudly, knowing that Anthea had fought back and she hadn’t taken any mercy. There were more blood splatters on the carpet in the main bedroom and on the bed, which was a mess. Anthea’s panic button was in the middle of the floor, crushed, probably stepped on. And one of the windows was shattered and the tips of the shards were stained with blood. Mycroft didn’t look out of the shattered window. Instead he ran out of the room and back down the stairs, out into the garden to see who had been thrown out of the window. Sherlock took a deep breath and peered between the broken glass, where he could see Anthea lying motionless on the ground below. 

 

He left the room and went back downstairs, knowing that his brother would need him after all of this. He had never learned how to handle emotions and was just starting to with Anthea but if she had been taken from him it would break him. Sherlock walked out into the garden where Mycroft was kneeling next to Anthea, gently brushing the hair off her face with the tips of his fingers, and phoning an ambulance on his mobile. Sherlock approached slowly and knelt down on Anthea’s other side, taking in her appearance and calculating her injuries. Mycroft hung up. 

 

“Is it as bad as it looks?” he asked Sherlock. He was better at deductions than his little brother but he couldn’t help jumping to the worst conclusions right now and he desperately wanted someone to tell him that what he was seeing was wrong. 

 

“She was shot. At least three times from what I can see and thrown out of the window. There’s indication of some blunt force trauma to the back of her head but I don’t think it’s too severe. Different bruising patterns and scratches indicate that she was badly beaten and abused.” Sherlock described, trying to keep all form of emotion out of his voice. 

 

“Her shirt.” Mycroft indicated, running his fingers over the edge of the open shirt. 

 

“I can’t see any sign of rape Mycroft but the doctors at the hospital will be able to tell you more than I can.” He tried to reassure his brother that an even worse fate hadn’t been doled out. 

 

Mycroft nodded, took his jacket off and laid it over her before he scooped Anthea up in his arms, carefully supporting her back and making sure that he wasn’t making any of the injuries worse. From the movement in her arm, both brothers could tell that it was broken. He held her close, warming her cold body with his. 

 

There was the tiniest hint of a sound coming from her throat and her lips twitched a little.

 

“Anthea. Talk to me, please, Anthea.” Mycroft begged, cupping her face with his hand. 

 

“Myc…” She said weakly, trying to finish saying his name. 

 

“It’s me. I’m right here, darling.” He whispered. 

 

“Molly.” She warned. “They said… taking Molly…” 

 

Panic rose inside Sherlock. 

 

“What about Molly? Who’s taking her? Where?” He demanded. Mycroft looked like he was going to punch him for shouting at Anthea. Sherlock took a deep breath and asked Anthea in a quieter tone. “What did they say about Molly?” he asked. But Anthea had drifted back into unconsciousness. 

 

Sherlock stood up and ran through the house and across the street, all the way up to his own front door which also stood slightly ajar. He slammed through it and flew up the stairs to their master bedroom where he knew Molly should be. Molly wasn’t there, the bed was a mess but there was no sign of a struggle and no blood. That was good he told himself, trying to bring his breathing back to a normal pace. He bellowed her name, three times, then four, but she didn’t answer. Buster came hurrying towards his master from under the bed and he was shivering. Sherlock took no notice of the dog and went over to examine Molly’s side of the bed. He immediately smelled chloroform on the pillow and bile started to rise in his throat. The dog yelped again, trying to get Sherlock’s attention. Sherlock looked and saw that Buster was pointing outside into the corridor. He followed him and Buster led him back out into the street and started pointing with his nose down the lane. 

 

Sherlock turned in the opposite direction and started banging on the Watson’s door. John finally answered, bleary eyed, but Sherlock didn’t give him time to tell him off for waking everyone up. 

 

“They’ve taken Molly.” Sherlock said. 


	23. A Strange Sense of Deja-Vu

By the time the ambulance got to Brompton Lane, Sherlock had explained everything to John and he’d started administering first aid to Anthea. When the ambulance finally took Anthea away, Mycroft turned to his brother. 

 

“Are there any clues to where they could have taken Molly?” He asked Sherlock. 

 

“No. Aren’t you going with Anthea?” 

 

“Anthea will be in surgery for a while and I’ll have nothing to do in the meantime. Besides she made me promise to get Molly back safely.” 

 

“Everything’s been disabled. All the cameras, the burglar alarm, sensor lights, all of it.” Sherlock told him, panicking more with every word. 

 

“Let’s just see about that. I had a separate camera rerouted into an individual circuit. Thankfully none of the equipment was stolen so we should have a good lead on them.” Mycroft explained, leading the two men into the house, past the crime scene and into the kitchen, half of which resembled the inside of a surveillance van. Mycroft started flipping switches and turning on monitors. He started typing at a keyboard before the picture on one of the monitors changed. Sherlock could tell that the camera was placed in the tree outside his house, but it was pointing in the direction towards the street and Mycroft’s house. 

 

“Bloody birds must have moved it.” Mycroft cursed. He moved to turn off the screen and switch to another camera but Sherlock stopped him.

 

“Wait, look.” Sherlock pointed to the screen as the figure of Mycroft’s next door neighbour, Eric Bailey could be seen crossing the street and walking towards Sherlock’s house. He could be seen leaving with something small in his hands about fifteen minutes later and crossing the road again and disappearing into his house. Half an hour after that a car could be seen parking in front of Mycroft’s house and two men breaking in, and, almost immediately after that the screen went blank. 

 

“Bailey.” Sherlock growled, stomping out of the kitchen and over to Eric’s front door. He started pounding on the door, until he decided breaking it down would be more effective. He slammed his side into the door twice before it gave way to a startled Eric who was making his way to open the door. When Sherlock saw him, he lunged for his throat. Sending both of them crashing to the ground, Sherlock kneeling on top of Eric with his hands still grasping at his neck. 

 

“Where is she!” Sherlock demanded furiously. “I swear to god, if you’ve hurt her I will end you!” 

 

Suddenly Sherlock was being pulled to his feet by John while Mycroft picked Eric up and slammed him against the wall. 

 

“Tell us where Molly is and I will be merciful. Don’t and die the most painful horrible death you can imagine.” Mycroft threatened. 

 

“Who’s Molly?” Eric stammered. 

 

“Ainsley!” Sherlock shouted. “My wife. Where have you taken her?” 

 

“I haven’t taken anyone, I only asked her to give me some gravy to go with my dinner. I woke her up but I didn’t take her. Why would you think I did?” Eric stuttered, fearfully. He was shaking like a leaf. 

 

“Because you have been spying on us since the very beginning. She noticed you looking through our bedroom window. Where is she?” Sherlock took hold of the front of the man’s shirt again. 

 

“I haven’t been spying on you. It’s you who’ve been spying on me. You think I wouldn’t notice that car parked in front of your house all the time and you two never driving it. It’s obviously there for surveillance.” Eric accused. 

 

“What car?” Sherlock and Mycroft asked simultaneously. 

 

Eric forced Sherlock to let go of his shirt and went to a nearby dresser. John’s fingers twitched, ready to take his gun out if Eric pulled anything other than a piece of paper from the drawer. Eric turned and held up a handful of photographs towards Sherlock who took them. He flipped through the collection of pictures, all of the same subject. A dark blue sedan parked in front of Sherlock and Molly’s house. Sherlock turned the pictures over and noticed that each one was dated, marking a sighting at least twice each week they had been living on the lane. 

 

“What about that suspicious guy we saw you talking to at the party a few months ago? Who was he?” John asked. 

 

“You tell me. He was here asking for Sherlock Holmes. I said there’s no one here by that name, not that I know of. Then you two came out and he looked like he saw a ghost and ran off.” Eric explained. Sherlock and Mycroft were still looking over the photos, trying to find a clue that would lead them to Molly. Mycroft spotted a face inside the car in one of the pictures and pointed it out to Sherlock. Without saying another word, the brothers left the house, taking the photographs with them. Leaving John to take care of any apologies that needed to be made, as usual. 

 

*****

 

When Molly woke up she found herself lying on an uncomfortable camp bed. The area around her mouth and nose was itching and she could feel small patches of burns on  her face. Her medical background told her they were most probably chloroform burns, especially since she could still smell traces of the chemical exactly under her nose. Her hips and knees were sore like she had been stuck in a foetal position for a long time. She stretched and groaned, feeling strong kicks from the baby inside her. She placed a hand on her bump, pushing down the fear inside her and taking deep calming breaths. Molly stood up and waddled along the edges of the room slowly, trying to calm herself even more. As a room it was spacious, but as a prison it felt small and cramped. 

 

The heavy metal door opened and a young-looking man walked in. He smiled devilishly at Molly before he closed the door behind him and stepped into the room properly. 

 

“Well, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up, darlin’” 

 

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Molly demanded from him. 

 

“And here I was hoping we could sit and talk before we got to the knitty gritty. Well, darlin’ my boss has been telling your husband to keep his nose out of other people’s business for a very long time. And he warned him what the consequences would be but he didn’t listen, now did he? So the big boss upstairs had you brought over here to see if he could convince you to talk some sense into that man of yours.” 

 

“Who is your boss?” Molly asked. 

 

“Well Sherlock might know him as The Blade, but we all know him as Mr. M.” 

 

“Sherlock talks about all of his cases with me and he has never mentioned any of those names to me. I think your boss might have made a mistake.” Molly said confidently. 

 

“It shows that you don’t know who you’re talking about.” The young brunet said, sitting down on the bed and leaning back on his hands. 

 

“It shows that you don’t know who you’re dealing with.” 

 

“Do you mean Sherlock or you?” 

 

“Both.” 

 

“Maybe I’ll test out your little theory. It seems to me that people are always confident until I pull out my gun.” He explained as he pulled out his gun from his jean pocket. “Still think you can handle this, Mrs Holmes?”

 

“I’m not scared of you.” Molly declared, clenching her teeth in fear. Despite what she said she was very afraid because she knew that shooting her was the very least this man could do to her. 

 

He stood up, cocked his gun and shot her in the arm. Molly fell to the floor with an ear-piercing scream, grasping the top of her arm to try and stop the bleeding. 

 

“How about now?” He asked with a menacing smile, moving to hover over her. 

 

“I’ve faced a lot worse than an idiot with a gun.” She spat truthfully.

 

“But your baby hasn’t.” He smiled as he pointed his gun at her bump. “You wouldn’t want to risk its life before it even starts now would you?” 

 

Molly remained silent, taking deep breaths against the pain and looking him in the eyes. She didn’t want to risk calling his bluff and hurting her unborn child.  

 

“Good girl. You’re a smart one. I can see why Sherlock married you.” He laughed. “Just in case you decide to do anything stupid, though.” He continued, pointing the gun at her bump and shooting again. Molly angled herself away in time, resulting in only a graze to the skin at the side of her bump. Molly groaned, covering the graze with her hand and putting pressure on it. He picked her up and dropped her onto the bed before bending down and pulling a bag from under the bed. He fished out some rope from the bag and tied her hands above her head by the wrists. 

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I might as well go tell the boss that you’re awake.” He closed the door behind him with a loud bang. 

 

*****

Mycroft sat at his kitchen table going over every inch of information he had. Sherlock was talking to Lestrade giving him all of the evidence he had gathered from his house, which admittedly wasn’t much. He had even allowed Anderson and Donovan to go over the scene in case he had missed anything; he wasn’t taking any chances. 

 

Mycroft had gotten the picture of the car scanned and enlarged until his staff could extract a license plate number and they were currently running it through the DVLA. In the meantime he had a separate group of people trying to find a match to the face they had seen in the picture. Sherlock paced along the room delving into his mind palace trying to make some sort of connection to the anonymous threats he had been receiving. The click-clacking of the keyboards was getting to him and constantly breaking his concentration. He slammed his palms on the table, across from Mycroft. 

 

“Please tell me you’ve found something.” He begged.

 

Mycroft didn’t even look up from the screen. “Nothing yet.” 

 

“Mycroft she’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant and I think it’s safe to assume that whoever kidnapped her isn’t going to make sure to keep her safe and comfortable.” 

 

“Yes and the longer you keep talking to me about this, the longer it’s going to take us to-” 

 

“Found it.” One of Mycroft’s assistants declared. 

 

“What? What did you find?” Sherlock turned to her suddenly, ripping the laptop from her hands. 

 

“A match to the licence plate and take a look at the photo on the driver’s licence, I think it could be a match to the guy in the car.” She explained to Sherlock. 

 

“Mr Holmes, didn’t you have us looking into his background and keeping tabs on him a few months back?” Another assistant, a young man, asked Mycroft. 

 

“Mycroft it’s the guy at the party.” Sherlock confirmed. 

 

“Bring up his known accomplices again.” Mycroft ordered standing up from the table and coming over to stand next to Sherlock.  

 

With a few simple  keystrokes  the history they were looking for popped up on the screen and it quickly answered Sherlock’s question.

 

“Morariu. Darius Morariu. I fucking knew it.” Sherlock swore, throwing the laptop into the assistant’s arms before he turned around and rushed out of the house. “Come, John. I think I know where she is. Bring your gun.” Both John and Mycroft dropped what they were doing and followed Sherlock out of the house.

*****

When the door opened again, a short man who looked more like a pig walked in. 

 

“Welcome my dear Mrs Holmes.” He said in a thick Eastern European accent. “I do apologise if my son was a little rough with you. He gets his manners from his mother.” He excused with a chuckle rubbing his hands together. 

 

Molly didn’t say a word, she was afraid that she might provoke him. Her baby gave a little kick and she sent up a silent prayer. 

 

“You have no idea the trouble it took to get to you, Molly. Can I call you Molly?” 

 

Once again, she didn’t say a word. 

 

“How rude of me. I know exactly who you are and you don’t seem to know who I am. Darius Morariu, but most people seem to know me as the blade. Maybe it’s because I like cutting people.” He said menacingly. 

 

Molly shivered. 

 

“Now, don’t be scared. You had to expect this. I’ve been telling your husband for almost a year to leave me alone or his family would pay the price. Too bad little Amanda wasn’t at home tonight, she’d be keeping you company here if she was. Then again, my boys might find her with granny and grandpa and bring them all over for a visit.” 

 

“Don’t you lay a finger on her.” Molly screamed. 

 

“Oh goody, I found your weak spot. I always forget that a mother’s weakness is her child. But don’t worry about Amanda, you’ve got a baby right here.”  He stepped forward and patted her bump. “You’re very close now. Is it eight and a half months yet?” 

 

Molly only nodded and he leaned over her. 

 

“You know I always wanted to taste a pregnant bird.” He ran his hands over her, holding her her neck and running his thumb over her throat with one hand and pressing into the wound on her bump with the other. “A friend of mine says they’re a little spicier than usual, but that’s only a problem if you can’t handle spice.” Molly screamed against the pain. 

 

He bent his head down and bit the side of her neck. Molly struggled and choked on a scream. He put pressure on her bump as he leaned forward to bite her. 

  
  
  
  



	24. Whispering Serpents

_ “Now, don’t be scared. You had to expect this. I’ve been telling your husband for almost a year to leave me alone or his family would pay the price. Too bad little Amanda wasn’t at home tonight, she’d be keeping you company here if she was. Then again, my boys might find her with granny and grandpa and bring them all over for a visit.”  _

 

_ “Don’t you lay a finger on her.” Molly screamed.  _

 

_ “Oh goody, I found your weak spot. I always forget that a mother’s weakness is her child. But don’t worry about Amanda, you’ve got a baby right here.”  He stepped forward and patted her bump. “You’re very close now. Is it eight and a half months yet?”  _

 

_ Molly only nodded and he leaned over her.  _

 

_ “You know I always wanted to taste a pregnant bird.” He ran his hands over her, holding her her neck and running his thumb over her throat with one hand and pressing into the wound on her bump with the other. “A friend of mine says they’re a little spicier than usual, but that’s only a problem if you can’t handle spice.” Molly screamed against the pain.  _

 

_ He bent his head down and bit the side of her neck. Molly struggled and choked on a scream. He put pressure on her bump as he leaned forward to bite her. _ He raised his head and straightened up with a smile. There was a little blood on his lips and he licked it off. 

 

“That’s just a little taste of what’s waiting for you. I have some business I have to take care of right now but I promise I’ll be back for you later.” 

 

“Please. I need to go to the bathroom.” Molly said suddenly as Darius turned away from her. He nodded and uncuffed her from the bed. He led her out of the room and into the one right next to it where a squalid bathroom was. He pushed Molly inside and slammed the door shut behind her. Molly could hear the locks being closed again. Molly squatted over the toilet, not wanting to make contact with it. As she peed, Molly pulled out two hair pins from her hair. She thanked god that she had fallen asleep without untying her hair that evening. She took one in each of her hands and clenched her fists tightly around them. When she finished in the bathroom she knocked on the door and heard the locks being dragged open. 

 

Darius took her by the elbow and pushed her back into the room, laid her on the bed and cuffed her wrists above her head once again. Molly made sure to hide the pins properly in her fists making sure that Darius couldn’t see them. 

 

“Now you sit tight and wait here for me. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” He told her. 

 

“You know Sherlock’s already on his way here, right?” Molly said bravely. 

 

“And then I’ll take care of him too.” He chuckled. “Actually, I think I’ll wait until he gets here, tie him up and make him watch the two of us having fun. I bet he’d love that, don’t you? Watching his little sweetie pay for his stupidity, maybe that will teach him to heed warnings. Maybe I could get my boy to come join in the fun. It’s been a while since the two of us have bonded over a lady.” He laughed. “I’ll let you think over all of this while you wait. Build the anticipation and all that.”   

 

He continued laughing maniacally as he walked to the door and closed it behind him. 

 

*****

Sherlock kept bouncing his knee up and down while he sat in the passenger seat as Mycroft drove. John was in the backseat texting his wife who was on her way to the hospital to keep tabs on Anthea and keep Mycroft updated on her condition. 

 

“Mycroft why are we going East? We should be going West. Unless you’ve forgotten that’s in a completely opposite direction.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. 

 

“Yes, but when a consulting detective tracks a mob boss down to his headquarters, it would only make sense for that mob boss to change his location. And my team have tracked him down to the East of London.” Mycroft insisted. 

 

“Your team of  _ idiots _ .” Sherlock corrected. “Has it occurred to you,  _ Mycroft _ , that he might be on to us. He knows we’re going East so he’s probably taken Molly back West. We’re wasting precious time.” 

 

“Do you really think I would risk Molly’s life like that? I sent another team West and they’ve already made contact to say that the ex-headquarters are completely abandoned. I know what I’m doing Sherlock.” 

 

John didn’t bother interrupting in the conversation. He realised that Mycroft had come the closest to admitting any sort of love for his brother since he’d known him and he didn’t want to remind Mycroft that he was in the back, listening to everything he was saying. 

 

“For once.” Sherlock muttered looking out of the window. 

 

“Sherlock I would not risk Molly’s life like that.” Mycroft reiterated. “I know how much you love her.” 

 

“What do you know about love?” Sherlock asked meaning it rhetorically. 

 

“I know you love Molly because you feel about her the same way I feel about Anthea. The fact that she’s carrying your child only makes you feel more protective of her, and I would never let you hurt that way.” 

 

“When have you ever passed up a chance to see me hurt?” Sherlock asked incredulously. 

 

“Sherlock, think.” Mycroft begged. “Name one time that you have been at your worst and I have not been there for you.” 

 

“Graduation. Everyone was there for my graduation. Even Sherrinford flew in from America and all our aunts and uncles from god knows where but you were off on one of your  _ missions. _ ” Sherlock insisted. 

 

“Oh please. I wasn’t there for one of the highest points of your life. A high point everyone knew would happen from when you were five years old. There was never any question to the fact that you would graduate top of your year. What about the lowest points of your life?” Mycroft asked angrily. 

 

“What about them?” 

 

“I have been there for every single one of them, Sherlock.” Mycroft growled. “I stayed up at night whenever you had those horrible nightmares. I took you in every time you got high. I dragged you into rehab every time you overdosed. I bailed you out of jail every time you landed yourself in there. Not to mention how many times I have saved your life over the years. Sherlock, you are my little brother. You always will be.” Mycroft revealed in one breath. “And I will always be there if and when you need me.” He vowed. 

 

Sherlock stayed silent, looking away from his brother and out of the window at the cars passing in the other direction which were getting less and less frequent as they moved towards the outskirts of the city. The conversation seemed to be over when no one said anything else. The only sound that could be heard was the hum of the car engine and it was almost enough to put John to sleep. He was brought back to full wakefulness by the sound of his mobile bleeping a text message alert. He swiped his phone to read the message he could see was from his wife. John breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“Mary says the doctors told her that Anthea will be making a full recovery. She’s still unconscious but at least she’s in the clear.” He delivered the good news. He heard Mycroft breathe a deep, long sigh of relief and satisfaction. 

 

“Thank you.” Mycroft said, turning his head slightly towards the back seat but never taking his eyes off the road. “Pass on my appreciation to Mary.” 

 

Silence descended over the car for a few moments once more, before Sherlock spoke up again. 

 

“Yes you have.” He said to Mycroft. 

 

“Excuse me?” His brother asked. 

 

“Yes, you have always been there for the lowest points in my life. And most of my high ones. No pun intended.” He admitted. There was a pause as everyone digested what Sherlock had just said and then both brothers cracked up laughing. It quickly died down though when Sherlock realised that his wife and unborn child were still in unknown danger. “Could you speed up now please, I really would like it if there could be more happy moments in my life.” Sherlock urged. 

 

“Understood.” Mycroft answered with a smile and he sped up a little. 

 

“Mycroft if you go over the speed limit you can take care of any tickets you receive. Even I can make sure those kinds of things disappear for good. Please just get there as fast as you can.” Sherlock begged. 

 

“Tickets I can take care of, but if we crash we wouldn’t necessarily get to Molly, now would we?” Mycroft retorted. 

 

“Mycroft!” Sherlock growled. 

 

“Mycroft, I’m the last person who would advise speeding but even I believe the situation calls for it. I’m slightly worried of what Sherlock might do if you won’t.” John finally interjected. 

 

They reached the edge of the city limits just then and Mycroft floored it as they got on the motorway. John could practically feel the stress flying off Sherlock at the same speed of the car, though he could still see the anger bubbling inside him.  _ God help the man who decided to cross Sherlock Holmes.  _ John thought. He knew Lestrade was deploying units to the location that Mycroft had given him. He unlocked his phone and sent Lestrade a quick text. 

 

_ Make sure there’s a medical team waiting on location. Someone’s going to need it. - John.  _

 

*****

After what felt like hours, Molly finally heard someone approaching the door again. She held her breath as it was unbolted and opened but she let out a disappointed huff when she saw it was Darius again. She had been secretly hoping that Sherlock had come to her rescue. She had fallen asleep a little but woke up again thanks to the baby moving and kicking. 

 

“It looks like your husband is taking his time.” Darius laughed. “No worries, we can still have some fun before he gets here. Just think how lucky you are, we get to do this twice.” 

 

Molly’s heart sank as she remembered Sherlock telling her that he could be going back home as late as early tomorrow morning. He might not even know that she’s missing yet. What if this madman killed her before anyone even noticed that she was gone. What if she didn’t even stand a chance. She sniffled back a tear involuntarily and she heard Darius laughing again. 

 

“Aw, don’t cry, love. I’m sure your hubby will be here lickety split. Isn’t that what you English say?” 

 

“Why don’t you call him?” Molly joked. 

 

“Now  _ that _ is a brilliant idea.” He clapped excitedly, taking out his phone. “I think a video call will get my point across much quicker.” Darius said, winking at Molly as he pressed the the buttons. “So, how about you give me his number?” 

 

Molly wouldn’t have allowed anyone to blackmail Sherlock but given the situation it was possibly the only way she was going to get out of here alive. She recited the mobile number that she had learned by heart so many years ago. 

 

Darius dialled the number and put the call on speaker phone. She avoided looking up at the phone as she heard the ringing tone. Her heart dropped and she nearly broke out in tears when she heard Sherlock answering. 

 

Back in the car, it was completely silent again, until Sherlock’s phone started ringing. 

 

“Who is it?” Mycroft asked him when he saw Sherlock looking at the screen. 

 

“I don’t recognise the number.” Sherlock said flatly. They all knew that it was most probably the kidnapper. “It’s a video call.” Sherlock told his brother. 

 

“We can still trace it.” Mycroft said as he pressed two buttons on his dashboard. “Answer it, put him on speaker.” He ordered.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He answered using his typical line. 

 

“Mr. Holmes. How nice to finally see you. Let me introduce myself… I am-” Darius started, the perfect picture of a polite older man. 

 

“Cut the bullshit, Darius. You and I know exactly why you’re calling. Where is she and what do you want?” Sherlock asked directly. 

 

“Your darling Molly is right here.” Darius said. 

 

Sherlock looked uncomfortable at the man referring to Molly in that way. 

 

On the other end of the line, Molly was still avoiding looking at the phone. The sound of Sherlock’s voice was making it a lot harder to keep herself together. It felt to her like he was right there in the room with her but couldn’t do anything to change her situation. Darius switched the phone to film from the back camera so that Sherlock could now see Molly lying on the bed handcuffed to the head rail. He could see blood next to her head and all over her arm and some more on her bump. Sherlock bit his lip to stop himself from screaming out. 

 

“Look at the phone sweetheart.” Darius said with mock sweetness to Molly. Sherlock could feel the bile rising in his throat when he heard Darius calling Molly sweetheart. He had to be careful with his expressions because, even though he couldn’t see Darius, Darius could still see him. Molly kept her resolve and kept looking down at her chest. Darius stepped forward and grabbed Molly’s entire jaw in one hand, pressing her face and trying to force her gaze towards the phone’s lens. “Come on darling. Show Sherlock those pretty eyes of yours.” 

 

Sherlock kept willing Molly to defy her kidnapper. He prayed that Darius would stick to his MO and hold back on hurting Molly, waiting until Sherlock got there to dole out his wrath. 

 

Darius released Molly’s jaw and hit her across one side of her face, and then the other. “I said look!” Darius growled at her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled hard, making her scream and close her eyes in pain. “I won’t tell you again, you little bitch.” He untangled his fingers from her hair and pinched the bite on her neck making her scream again. 

 

Sherlock tried to offer her the comfort he could from over the phone. “Molly.” He called her gently, knowing that the sound of his voice saying her name would reassure her just a little. He was aware that she could only hear him when her eyes finally looked up towards the lens but there was no indication of recognition in her face. Her beautiful wide eyes were full of tears and she choked them back as she spoke his name. 

 

“Sherlock.” She gasped. “Sherlock please.” She cried. 

 

“Molly, I’m coming. I’m on my way. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.” He vowed. 

 

“Now that is something you actually can help.” Darius said, moving the phone away from Molly and switching the phone back to the front lens. “Get here fast and I will let her go in your place and you can pay for your sins yourself. I have no interest in killing a girl and her unborn baby.” Darius admitted. “But if you take your time getting here then I will get bored and I get psychotic when I’m bored. Sometimes I just blank out and when I come back down from a high I’m surrounded by bodies. It’s just the darnedest thing.” He laughed. “But I will promise you this. If you’re not here within the next hour, I’m starting with your baby.” He threatened turning to Molly to show her how serious he was as well. “I will  _ rip _ that baby out of her and I will make. Her.  _ Watch!  _ And I will call you and make you watch too, Mr Holmes.” 

 

“Darius, it’s me you want. I’m on my way. Don’t touch her.” Sherlock practically begged. 

 

“You know, I’ve waited long enough already.” Darius said finally before throwing the phone at the wall. The only thing Sherlock could see now was a grey ceiling but he didn’t dare hang up as he heard a struggle and a scream. 

 

Darius was on top of Molly again, biting the gunshot wound on her arm, making her scream so loudly she nearly passed out from lack of breath. He stood up and pulled out a box from under the bed. Molly could only see two small bottles filled with clear liquid and she was willing to bet her life that it wasn’t water they were holding. She saw Darius pull out a syringe and prepare it with one of the liquids. 

 

“What is that?” Molly cried. Her vast knowledge of drugs and poisons made her brain go through every transparent liquid that could be harmful to a foetus if administered to a pregnant woman. She was going through all the symptoms of each and every one as Darius closed the box and pushed it back under the bed. “No please. Please, don’t. Not my baby, please.” She begged. Darius completely ignored her as he placed a hand on her bump and inserted the needle, emptying the contents inside her. “No. No, no.” Molly sobbed, the fear taking over her completely. 

 

Sherlock sat silently, still holding the phone and listening to Molly’s pleas for mercy. His fingers clenched around the phone and his lips curled in anger. It wasn’t until his hand started shaking that Mycroft ripped the phone out of his hand and hung up. 

 

“We have a location.” Was all he said. “It’s only ten minutes away.” He reassured his brother as he sped up, going as fast as the car could. 

  
  


*****

Darius left right after administering the drug to Molly and pocketing his phone. Molly fell asleep but she had no idea if it was due to the drugs or to wearing herself out with crying. Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the worst case scenario and she couldn’t stop imagining her baby struggling inside her, fighting for its life. When she woke up the baby was moving inside her again and she prayed that the movement was a good sign and not her baby’s last struggle. 

 

As her eyes focused on the water stains on the ceiling, she realised that her knuckles were hurting since her fists had remained closed all this time. She relaxed her fingers and felt something stinging along the width of both her palms. That’s when she remembered the pins. She carefully twisted her fingers so that she was now holding a pin between her thumb and forefinger in each hand. With incredible dexterity, she started trying to pick the locks on the handcuffs, struggling to remember what Sherlock had taught her about four years before when they had been on a case and landed themselves in a cell, though not one enforced by the police. She remembered his instructions with clarity, forcing the fear down and focusing on the memory of his voice. She smiled as she heard the click of the lock and her wrists were finally free. 

 

She was careful not to let the cuffs fall behind the bed. She knew that if Darius or his son came back to the room, she would have to pretend to still be cuffed, otherwise they might do more horrible things to her. Molly stood up and walked around, breathing deeply and rubbing her hand over her bump. 

 

There was a loud crashing noise coming from somewhere outside her room. She could hear gunshots and felt the wound on her arm throbbing with pain. Molly remembered that Darius and his son had both pulled something out from under her bed and decided to check there in case one of them had hidden a gun under there. She was in luck. 

 

“Yes.” She muttered triumphantly as her hand closed around the grip. She quickly checked the magazine and smiled when she saw it was full. She went to the door and picked the lock, opening the door just a crack to see if she could spot anything from beyond the corridor. She couldn’t see anyone or anything and she quickly formed a plan in her head. All she needed to do was get to someone with a mobile, take it, even if it meant killing them,  and call Sherlock. She would probably have to return to her room for safety but as long as she had a gun and she could defend herself, she didn’t feel hopeless anymore. She knew Sherlock was on his way and would be here eventually. 

 

Molly could hear more commotion and gunshots as she opened the door fully and started walking silently down the corridor. She watched her step carefully as she was still barefoot and didn’t want to step on anything that would hinder her speed more than her pregnancy already was. She reached the end of the corridor and spotted a man shooting out into what looked like a warehouse beyond. She thanked her lucky stars that he had his back to her. Molly looked down at his jeans and spotted a mobile phone in the shooter’s back pocket. Molly took a deep breath, aimed and shot the man in the back of the head, telling herself that it was the only way she could get herself out of here alive. The man fell onto his front and she saw his gun skittering ahead of him along the floor with the force of the impact. She knew it would probably attract attention so she quickly lowered herself and slid the phone from his pocket. 

 

Suddenly a man appeared at the entrance to the hallway and aimed his gun at Molly automatically. Molly did the same and broke out into a smile as she saw who the man was. 

 

“John.” She gasped in relief. 

 

“Molly. Oh thank god you’re alright.” He sighed, stepping over the corpse to help her stand up properly. She hugged him as close as she could as they ducked in the corridor, waiting for the commotion to die down, John reassuring Molly that Sherlock and Mycroft had the situation under control and that Mycroft had ordered the place to be surrounded. Molly recounted everything including the injection that Darius had given her. John dashed off back to the room to collect the syringe and take it to the hospital and he returned with the whole box. They realised that the commotion had nearly completely died down and the only sound that could be heard was talking. Molly and John listened closely and her heart skipped a beat when she recognised Sherlock’s voice. 

 

“Where is she, Darius?” 

 

“You’re too late.” Darius bluffed. “She’s already dead.” He laughed. 

 

Gunshots rang out, one right after the other and John held Molly back, worried that Sherlock might accidentally shoot her in the state that he was in. When the shots stopped John came out of hiding, pulling Molly behind him. 

 

“Sherlock, I found her, she’s alright.” He said, revealing Molly to him. The relief was very much apparent on Sherlock’s face when he saw his wife standing up and walking towards him. He ran over and hugged her. 

 

“Oh Molly.” He sighed into her shoulder. “Molly. Molly, love are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He asked her frantically, holding her face back between his hands and giving her a once over. 

 

“Sherlock I’m fine.” She reassured, so happy to see him again that she started crying. 

 

“You’re bleeding.” Sherlock spotted. 

 

“Gunshot to the arm. I’ve lost some blood but I’m okay.” Molly admitted. 

 

“The baby.” Sherlock said, spotting the blood on her bump.

 

“Graze I think. The baby’s fine.” She lied through her tears. She broke down in tears and pulled him to her for a kiss. She couldn’t believe that he was standing here holding her. Sherlock bent his head down into the crook of her neck, rubbing her back, reassuring her that everything was going to be fine. Over his shoulder, Molly could see Mycroft walking towards them with a gun in his hand in just his shirt and trousers. His white silk shirt covered in splatters and blobs of blood, though it seemed to Molly that none of it was his. She managed a weak smile towards him and he smiled back. 

 

Suddenly she saw a man appearing behind Mycroft and raising a gun, aiming it towards Sherlock’s back. 

 

“SHERLOCK LOOK OUT!” She screamed, pushing him away, lifting her gun and pulling the trigger until she could only hear an empty clicking sound. She saw Mycroft with his back towards her and shooting towards the man as well, who was now falling to the floor. She recognised him as Darius’ son. 

 

“Molly, are you alright?” Sherlock asked her from somewhere next to her. 

 

She was about to nod again when she felt a sharp pain in her womb and along her back. Her knees buckled and she nearly fell forward, stopped only by Sherlock’s arms around her. 

 

“The baby.” She said. “I think there’s something wrong with the baby.” 

 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. There’s an ambulance waiting outside. We’re not far from the hospital.” Sherlock reassured as he picked her up and started walking towards the door. John took the gun out of her hand and pocketed away for evidence. Her vision grew fuzzy and the last things she remembered were flashing lights in the dark and Sherlock’s voice in her ear.


	25. The Perfect Solution

When Molly woke up, she looked up at the ceiling and happily realised that it was the very familiar ceiling of a hospital room. She sighed in relief and heard something stirring somewhere nearby. She turned her head to the side on the pillow and saw Sherlock snoozing on the armchair next to her bed, holding her hand in his sleep. She looked down and realised that the palm of her hand was bandaged. She looked to the other one and saw that it was in a similar state. She could also see the IV drip attached to the inside of her elbow and groaned. 

The noise woke Sherlock completely up and he was fussing over her within seconds. He helped her sit up, supporting her back and arranging the pillows behind her so that they were propping her up. 

“What’s the damage?” She asked half-jokingly. 

“Molly, I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me for risking your life like that, and the baby’s?” Sherlock begged her, taking her hand in both of his again. 

“Sherlock, it’s not your fault. None of it is.” Molly reassured him. 

“But it is. If you weren’t married to me…” He started. 

“Will you stop with the self-flagellation?” Molly chided. “Darius is a vile insect and I’m pretty sure that what he did to me he’s done to other women and none of them were connected to you.” 

“Molly I will never be able to forgive myself. I should have made absolutely sure that you were safe. I should have never left you alone.”

“And I would have ended up punching your lights out when you got so annoying.” Molly joked. 

Sherlock stopped talking and gave her one of his lopsided smiles that she loved so much. “Molly you are the bravest human being that I know, and that is one of the many, many reasons why I love you.” 

“I love you too, even though sometimes you act like a brain-dead idiot.” Molly teased, pulling him towards her to kiss him. 

She ran her hands over her bump lovingly, but froze when she felt a feeling of emptiness and everything inside almost felt like gelatin. Her stomach dropped and tears formed in her eyes at the thought of losing her baby. 

“Sherlock, what happened to the baby?” She asked him, squeezing his hand which sent a small shot of pain through her palm. 

“Molly, it’s alright. The baby’s just fine. The doctors say she couldn’t be healthier.” Sherlock comforted, brushing her hair back away from her face. 

“She?” Molly asked happily. “It’s a girl.” 

“Yes, and she’s right here. Do you want to hold her? Do you think you’re strong enough for that?” He asked carefully. 

“Sherlock she’s my daughter. Give her to me.” Molly insisted, a flutter of excitement went through her. 

Sherlock nodded with a chuckle and got up, moving across the room to a small plastic cot, where Molly could only see a lump of cloth and blanket. Sherlock picked the little lump up carefully, cradling it in his arms and looking down into ‘her’ face. Molly smiled as she noted that Sherlock’s face had probably never looked more serene in his life. 

“Molly, meet our little girl.” Sherlock whispered as he handed the baby to her gently, making sure that her arms were precisely placed in the cradling position. 

“Sherlock I have held a baby before.” Molly tittered. 

“I know, but this is our baby.” Sherlock insisted, stroking the baby’s cheek. 

“And she’s beautiful.” Molly continued his line of thought. 

“Just like her mother.” Sherlock whispered, bending down to place a kiss on Molly’s cheek. “Thank you.” He said reverently. “Thank you for giving her to me.” 

“You gave her to me first.” Molly smiled. She looked back down into her daughter’s face. “Look what we did.” She said proudly. “I always knew we could make beautiful science together.” She laughed and Sherlock joined in with his low chuckle. “Hello, my darling little one. We’ve been waiting so long to meet you. I love you so much.” She whispered to the baby before she kissed her forehead. 

“You were right by the way.” Sherlock admitted after a while of both of them starting into their daughter’s face. 

“Oh? About what?” Molly wondered.

“About her. I thought you were having a boy because of the way you were carrying and you said it was a girl because of your gut feeling. You were right. As was your mother. Though let’s maybe not tell mummy that she was wrong, I’ll never be able to live that down.” Sherlock explained. 

“Oh. Well, your mother’s still upset that she was the only woman who had to walk on the right at our wedding so I won’t be in any hurry to tell her that she’s wrong about anything. But let’s face it, your deduction had nothing to do with the way I was carrying and everything to do with the fact that you wanted a son.” Molly poked fun. 

“That’s a strong possibility.” Sherlock admitted with another chuckle. “Though I love her just as much as I would have a son.” 

The door opened and a nurse popped her head around it. 

“Oh goody, I see mummy’s up and getting acquainted with her little one.” The short red-head said in a far-too-chipper voice, but nothing could ruin the moment for Molly. 

“Yes I am, she’s so wonderful.” Molly gushed. 

“I know.” The nurse swooned. “But right now, I’m afraid I have to take her away for a bitty-boo so we can weigh her and take her itty bitty footprints. I promise I’ll bring her right back.” The nurse told Molly who relinquished her daughter to the nurse without a fuss. “I need to ask, have you decided on a name for her?” She asked Molly and Sherlock cheerily. 

Molly turned to Sherlock in shock and said. “You know, I’ve been pregnant for eight and a half months and we never once discussed names.” She laughed. 

Sherlock broke down in hysterical laughter, forcing the nurse to slink off with the baby almost fearfully. Sherlock kept laughing for a good while and Molly joined in until she started getting slightly worried that her husband had lost it. 

“It’s okay. I’m alright.” He reassured her, wiping a tear from between his lashes and resting back in his chair, rubbing his midriff which hurt from the repeated motion of his lungs. “It’s just… after all this stress… and fear.” Sherlock explained through deep breaths. “I can’t stop laughing… It’s ridic-ridic- ridiculous.” The situation didn’t get any better when Sherlock started hiccoughing. This resulted in Molly bursting out into laughter with him. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him towards her, planting a big wet sloppy kiss on him. 

“So what did the doctors do to me? I don’t think I was anywhere near labour, why did they decide to get the baby out?” 

“That bastard injected you with saltwater and Oxycontin. The doctors said you were practically dehydrated and they were worried about the affect the Oxycontin would have on her and since you were already so close they decided to do an emergency cesarean. Once the baby was out they could put you under properly and get that bullet out and now they can give you a controlled dose of antibiotics which they wouldn’t have been able to if you were still pregnant.” Sherlock explained, going through everything the doctors had told him. 

“Is that what’s in here?” Molly asked indicating the pipe attached to the inside of her elbow. 

“I think that’s fluids to keep you hydrated. The antibiotics are administered by the nurses.”

The nurse came back just then. “Here we go, little itty bitty one. Back to mummy and daddy.” She whispered to the baby in her arms. Sherlock stood up and relieved the nurse of his daughter. Looking back into her face and the cloud of serenity falling over him once again. “Oh, I think daddy’s in love with the little angel.” The nurse cooed as she saw the change in his expression. Sherlock looked at Molly and rolled his eyes. 

“He’s been fussing over us since I found out I was expecting.” Molly told her honestly. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Buzz me if you need me.” The nurse said before leaving again. 

Sherlock approached Molly and handed her the baby again “There, now you’re a real mother.” He announced. 

“What are you talking about?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“Well, I know you love Amanda but it’s not the same is it?” Sherlock explained. 

“Of course it is. Sherlock I love Amanda with all my heart and there’s no way on earth that I would ever love the baby more than her.” Molly chided. 

“I know that. But let’s face it she’s not your biological daughter, you must feel something different.” He insisted. 

Molly took a deep breath and realised that it was finally time to tell Sherlock her secret. She figured now was the best time since he was so happy and relieved. 

“Sherlock… no, I don’t, because the truth is… Amanda is my daughter.” She confessed slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Molly, I know what you mean, legally she’s your daughter and you love her-” 

“No, Sherlock. She’s my real daughter. I’m Amanda’s biological mother.”

Sherlock only managed to blink back at her. He sat back into the chair slowly, digesting the news.

“Sherlock say something please?” Molly begged him when the silence got absolutely scary. John had told her about Sherlock going into what they now called ‘Sher-shock’ and he only stared and blinked at you for hours on end. 

“H-how?” He managed to ask. 

Molly giggled and indicated the baby in her arms sheepishly. “The same way we made this one.” She shrugged. 

“No, I mean.” He started, clearing his throat. “How can Amanda be yours? I would have known.” 

“Well you obviously didn’t.” Molly pointed out. 

“Why would you keep the pregnancy from me and then abandon her?” Sherlock asked a little angrily. 

“Sherlock I understand you’re angry…” 

“Molly, angry doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now.” He huffed trying to keep from shouting. “Do you know Amanda has been asking me about her mother every chance she gets since she started to talk?”

“I know.” Molly tried to explain. 

“No, you don’t know. Let me tell you. Her first word was mumma, formed like a question. The first thing she ever said to me was asking where her mother was. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every single wish she’s ever made in her life was to know who her mother was and why she left her, and all this time you were taking her out shopping and to the park every week and to dance class. You’ve been her mother in every way, except for anyone knowing that you are. So please, for the love of god, tell me why.” Sherlock went on a rant, making him look like a madman as he spoke. 

Molly broke down in tears at his words and for the first time since she knew him he didn’t try to comfort her or brush her tears away. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry but I swear I did it to protect her.” Molly spluttered. 

“What could you have possibly been protecting her from?” Sherlock asked, still angry. 

“Moriarty.” Molly admitted, wiping her tears away, forcing herself to stop crying and explain everything properly. 

Sherlock froze at the name of his arch-enemy. “What do you mean Moriarty?” He demanded, Molly no longer remaining the sole focus of his fury. 

“Let me start at the beginning.” Molly told him. Sherlock settled himself in his chair waiting for her explanation. “Do you remember that year or so I spent up in Scotland?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes a couple of months after John and Mary’s wedding.” He confirmed. 

“We went out, got drunk and had sex a week before I left. And when you didn’t talk about it I just figured you wanted to pretend like it never happened so I packed up and left like I was planning to do anyway.” Molly shrugged. “When I found out I was pregnant I immediately knew it was yours and that I wanted to keep it. But I was in Scotland and I didn’t know how you would take it so I decided to do it alone. It was okay, a little scary for a while and a little lonely. But then I started making friends and I had some family up there. Since I was pregnant my mother started visiting me more and more often and before I knew it, it was nine months and I was in a hospital pushing out a baby and I was so happy.” Molly described. “That happiness lasted for about two hours. Until he walked in. Moriarty just walked into my hospital room and he said that if I didn’t do exactly as he asked, he was going to kill her.”

“If he wasn’t dead already I’d kill him.” Sherlock pounded his closed fist on the arm of the chair. 

“I didn’t want to do something I’d end up regretting but I didn’t want to risk her life. So I found a way to contact Mycroft and told him everything and he came up with this plan to have me pretend that Amanda died a cot-death when she was about a week old. That’s where Anthea came in. Mycroft tracked down a newborn that died in an orphanage and Anthea came over and made the switch. She left with Amanda and I didn’t see her until two weeks after that when we were both in London. But Mycroft kept on insisting that it was only fair that you knew and he had me write that note that I left with Amanda before he had Anthea leave her on your doorstep when she was about two months old. He had no idea how you would take it and he made arrangements to adopt her if you didn’t want to raise her but he said that you needed to know. That night, when you asked me to come to dinner, I thought it might be because you had worked it out and you wanted to talk or something. But then I came in and everyone was there and you were holding our beautiful baby girl in your arms and saying you were going to raise her all on your own and that you didn’t care what anyone thought. You have no idea how happy I was in that moment to know we had outsmarted Moriarty. I was free and Amanda was safe and you were so happy to be her father, I could see you already loved her so much.” She started tearing up again as she said her last words. 

“But she was only two and a half when I killed Moriarty, for good. Why didn’t you just tell me everything then?” Sherlock asked. 

“You nearly died. You were in the hospital and you asked me to be her adoptive mother and then you flat-lined and you were legally dead for about fifteen minutes. How could I let that be the last thing I ever told you? And even when you were okay I was so scared of telling you. You had given her back to me in every way that you could, you made me her mother even when you didn’t know that I was her real one, I thought a part of you must have known. I was scared you would take her away from me, that you would not allow me to see her again. And then it just got harder and harder to tell you as she got older.” 

“So you were ready to spend her entire life being her adoptive mother but not her real mother, all because you were scared?” Sherlock whispered, avoiding looking at her face, choosing instead to look at their newborn daughter. 

“He was dead once before and he came back, how was I supposed to know that this wasn’t the same?” Molly countered. 

“Because I made sure he was dead.” Sherlock countered, finally looking at her. His anger had abated only a little. 

“Would you take that risk with Amanda?” She asked him, driving her point home. 

Sherlock leaned back in the chair and considered for a moment before he said. “No. And there’s no way I can stay angry at you. I’ve kept far too many secrets from you in the past, that’s why you’re in the hospital tonight. I more than deserve it, I mean the whole reason you are here tonight is because I kept a secret from you and failed to keep you safe on top of it.” 

“Aren’t we both just the most stubborn idiots you’ve ever met?” Molly asked, laughing through her tears. 

“Yes we are. Though you’re a bigger one because you’ve landed yourself with me.” Sherlock joked and stood to kiss her. 

“No you are. I’m surprised you didn’t figure out I was Amanda’s mother given just how much like me she is.” Molly muttered as she leaned into his side. 

“That is true. The resemblance is striking. She’s far smarter than I ever was, she obviously gets her brains from you, and brave too. Though I still don’t know how we’re going to explain it to her.” Sherlock wondered with a smile. 

“How about you let me take care of that. You’ve had to answer enough questions on that topic.” 

“And Mycroft and Anthea knew about everything?” He questioned. 

“Yes, I wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret without them and both Amanda and I would probably be dead.” She explained. 

“What are we going to name her then?” Sherlock changed the subject, pointing towards the baby, who had now woken up and was squirming in Molly’s arms. 

“I have no idea.” Molly giggled. “How did we not think of this before? We had everything ready, but we forgot to think about the most important thing.” 

“Hang on a minute.” Sherlock said whipping out his phone. “I downloaded a name app ages ago. This one even has a feature that allows you to pick names based on the sibling’s name.” 

It took them an hour to realise that they didn’t like any of the names suggested by the site and they started looking at names more randomly, Molly sitting with a notebook and writing down any of the ones that they did like. 

“Well if it was a boy what names would you have suggested?” Molly asked her husband. 

“Don’t laugh but I was thinking of the name Hooper, after you.” He said a little shyly. 

“Hooper Holmes? Hooper Sherlock Holmes. Hooper Holmes.” Molly repeated listening to the way the name sounded. 

“Yes I think you’ve got it.” Sherlock nodded with an amused smile. He looked back at the phone again, thinking before he suggested. “How about Holly? For Molly and Hooper.” 

“Would you really name our daughter Holly Holmes?” Molly said with a laugh. 

“It’s not that different from Molly Holmes.” Sherlock warned. 

“Yes but Holly Holmes. Do we really want to go down the alliterative route?” Molly said hesitantly. “I mean I like it a lot, but…” She trailed with a twist of her mouth. 

“What about a middle name. That could make it sound less alliterative.” Sherlock suggested. 

“I was thinking, maybe we could name her after my mother. Since Amanda’s middle name is Mabel after your mother.” 

“Well for Margaret, we could go with Maggie, but the app suggests both Maisie and Mary, though if we are going with that I think I prefer Marie.” 

“Hmm.” Molly thought for a moment. “I think I prefer Holly Marie Holmes out of those three. And we could actually stick a hyphen in there and use Holly-Marie as her full name.” 

“Mrs Holmes, I think we have a baby name.” 

“Welcome to the world little Holly-Marie.” Molly whispered to her baby daughter who had fallen back asleep in her mother’s arms. 

“Can I hold her a little now, you’ve been hogging her since you woke up.” Sherlock complained. 

“You’ve been holding her since she was born. I don’t think I need to remind you that I was unconscious for most of the time she’s been here.” Molly countered. 

“Yes, but she was inside you for eight and a half months.” Sherlock argued. 

“That doesn’t count.” Molly contested. 

“Fine, one more hour then I’m taking her from you.” Sherlock compromised. 

“That’s fine by me, I’ll be asleep by then.” Molly laughed wearily. Sherlock joined her as he relaxed back in his chair.

There was a knock at the door and Mycroft opened the door for Anthea to wheel herself into the room in her wheelchair. 

“Look who’s here.” Anthea said and Amanda skipped in behind her Uncle and over to her father, climbing into his lap. “Sherlock called us and said both mother and baby were doing fine and we figured we’d bring big sis over.” Anthea continued with a wink towards Molly. 

“Sherlock knows, by the way.” Molly told the two other adults in the room. Mycroft nodded at Molly and then at Sherlock who nodded back. It was their way of acknowledging each other and saying thank you. Anthea smiled as she squeezed Molly’s hand. It was her way of saying I told you so. 

“Let me see the little darling.” Anthea cooed as she saw the baby move in Molly’s arms. 

“It’s a another little princess.” Molly told her as she carefully handed the baby to Anthea, who could only hold her with one arm since her right arm was in a sling. 

“Ooh, another niece to wrap Mycroft around her tiny fingers.” Anthea teased. 

“How are you?” Molly asked, noticing the bandages. 

“Not too bad. Left leg broken and bullet tore through my left thigh. Right arm broken. Lots of bruises and scratches. Major concussion. Needed a blood transfusion and lots and lots of morphine.” Anthea summarised. “I’m enjoying the wheelchair though, I’ve already learnt how to do a wheelie.” She laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun.” Molly laughed along. 

“Do you have a name for her yet?” Anthea questioned excitedly. 

“Holly-Marie Holmes.” Molly said proudly. 

“It’s beautiful. Just like her. I’m so happy for you Moll.” 

“Your turn now. I’ve had some ideas about the wedding.” 

“Let’s wait until we’re both up and running again, then we can start working full speed ahead.” Anthea said. 

“Mummy, can I see my new baby sister?” Amanda asked excitedly from where she sat on Sherlock’s lap. 

“Come here.” Molly told her, helping Amanda up on the bed to sit next to her. She wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Mycroft helped Anthea hand the baby back to Molly since she couldn’t get up out of her chair. 

“She’s so tiny.” Amanda whispered looking at her baby sister. “Hello baby Holly. I’m your big sister, Amanda. Daddy says you can already recognise my voice because you could hear me even when you were inside Mummy. We’ve all been waiting so long to meet you. Toby and Buster can’t wait to meet you too, though Uncle Mycroft says that we can’t bring them to hospital so you’ll have to wait until we take you home. Toby’s Mummy’s cat and Buster’s Daddy’s dog that Mummy gave him for Christmas. I don’t know if you’ve met Uncle John and Aunt Mary yet, but they’re very nice. Their daughter Hannah is my best friend, you’ll get to meet her too.” Amanda prattled off, talking about everything that came to mind. “Mummy is she asleep?” 

“I think so, but it’s time for Daddy to take her on a walk along the hospital.” Molly hinted with a little nod towards her husband. 

“Mycroft, Anthea come help me take the baby on a walk along the hospital.” Sherlock said as he stood and took the baby. 

“Sherlock she is a child, you don’t need to take her on a walk and you certainly don’t need my help to do it.” Mycroft insisted. 

“Just shut up and come out here with me.” Sherlock insisted. 

Mycroft turned and pushed Anthea out of the room, following his brother down the hall. 

“What is all this about?” Mycroft asked his brother patiently. 

“My wife is about to tell our oldest daughter that she is her mother. Thank you for telling me that by the way.” Sherlock said sarcastically. 

“I did it to protect you.” Mycroft excused. 

“We did it to protect Amanda and Molly.” Anthea corrected. 

“Yes and I appreciate that, and Molly clarified all the details with me and I’ve forgiven her. Also she knows about the letters and she’s forgiven me so now we’re all on the same page. It should take Molly all of five minutes to explain everything to Amanda.” 

“Oh yes, five minutes should be adequate to deliver life-changing news.” Mycroft said sarcastically. 

“Mycroft, Molly’s already been Amanda’s mother for all her life. Amanda actually refers to her as mummy. How do you think Amanda will take the news that Molly is, always has been and always will be her mother, biological or otherwise, just like Amanda has wished for the entirety of her short life?” 

“Can I hold my little niece again?” Anthea interrupted, letting the brothers go at it. 

Sherlock handed her the baby and she tuned out the rest of the conversation. 

When they returned to the hospital room, Amanda jumped up and announced. “Mummy’s my real mummy, daddy!” She shouted happily. 

*****

A year and a half later, Anthea was sitting back in the hospital bed herself, looking into the beautiful face of her newborn son. She had been a little worried and scared when she’d found out she was pregnant only four months after she and Mycroft had gotten married but her husband quickly proved how good a father he could be. 

“Can we switch now?” Anthea asked Mycroft who was sitting in the chair next to her bed. “I would like to hold my little girl now.” Anthea indicated their newborn daughter in his arms.

“And I would like to hold baby William, as well.” Mycroft said. They carefully changed babies and settled back comfortably admiring their twins again. “I still don’t understand why you wanted to name our daughter Elizabeth though.” 

“Because I like the name, Myc.” Anthea insisted, though Mycroft knew it was entirely because Elizabeth was Molly’s middle name. He didn’t blame his wife. Holly was Anthea’s middle name and that was the one Sherlock and Molly had chosen for their youngest daughter who was now eighteen months old. 

“Whatever you say, dear.” Mycroft waved off, admiring the way his son’s fingers grasped his digit. He truly had never believed that he would be as happy as he was in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I would like to thank my team, as well as the mods for creating this challange.


End file.
